


sweet prometheus, come home

by Neffectual



Series: sweet prometheus 'verse [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Betrayal, Blow Jobs, Come Sharing, Dirty Talk, Felching, Forgiveness, Heartbreak, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Polyamory, Poor BDSM Practices, Regret, Rimming, Slut Shaming, Soul-Searching, Threesome - M/M/M, Whipping, consensual pain, poor communication, sexual reluctance, the shield - Freeform, the tagline for this fic should be 'will these boys ever be happy?'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman is gorgeous, all broad shoulders and warm, kind eyes, but sometimes he isn’t enough to make Dean’s numb fingers stop feeling so cold. He isn’t the firebrand Seth was, and even with the blankets pulled up high over both of them, Dean still aches for the heat of Seth at his back.</p><p>Learning to be without Seth, this charts from the destruction of the Shield, through to current events, with reconcilliation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. our fire

**Author's Note:**

> Title and inspiration from Dessa's 'The Beekeeper', the line is 'sweet Prometheus, come home, they took away our fire'.
> 
> My first fic in the fandom, and whenever I foray into a new area, I like to write somthing introspective, so I can explore the characters and their motivations, and how I want to put them into spaces in my head.

Watching Seth walk away from them with a smile, a grin, like he’d just found the answer to the universe, hurts more than the chair in his back. Dean can still see that smug smile as he lets Roman pluck his shirt off and look at the bruises and contusions forming, the marks the chair has left on him mixing with mouth-shaped bruises from Seth the previous night. Dean shakes his head, vicious, trying to chase away the memories of that mouth twisted towards him in something like love, something like wanting, and finds he can’t see that smile anymore, eclipsed by the smirk from the night where his lover tore them apart, piece by piece, in front of thousands of people.

He drinks that night, draining the hotel minibar, never mind the cost, and pretends he can’t hear Roman in the next room, breaking furniture and punching the walls. The whiskey goes down easy, like he had, like they both had in front of Seth’s little smirk and steel chair. Because who expects you brother, your lover, your best friend to attack you from behind like a fucking coward? It wasn’t as if Seth didn’t have an equal partnership in The Shield, in what they were – if anything, Roman was the odd one out, two invites into their bed notwithstanding. He and Seth were meant to be partners, lovers – and Roman had taken them both in like blood family, as if he didn’t already have that in spades.

 

Dean thinks about May, the month he’ll always think of as birthday month, because Roman and Seth share it, and how they’d dragged Roman out to the bars and, when he’d still come home alone, dragged him into their bed. Thinks of how it had felt to be between the two of them, to be treated like a present and unwrapped slowly and carefully between their big hands. They worshipped him that night, as if it was his celebration and not theirs, and Dean has never felt so wanted, so needed, so loved. He didn’t think that just four scant days later, he’d be healing from wounds both physical and emotional, and crawling into bed beside Roman to lie, side by side, both of them awake and neither of them speaking.

It should be awkward, sharing a bed with someone who had fucked into him with such reverence only a few nights before, but they’re both heartsick and lost, and there’s nothing sexual in the way Roman rolls Dean up into his arms and holds him close, because there’s nothing sexual about mourning. That’s what they’re doing, both of them, mourning a friend, a brother, a lover, someone who was closer to both of them than almost anyone else, and if they need each other in order to find a little sleep and comfort, then Dean will knock out anyone who starts making insinuations. But he does wonder if he would be in the same place if they had just thought to put Seth in the middle, to show him how loved he was and how much they needed him with them.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” Dean asks, the dawn light creeping around the hotel drapes, his tone still resolutely awake.

“Would you take him back?” Roman asks, bass voice rumbling, vibrating through Dean’s bones, “If he came back right now, would you take him back?”

Dean doesn’t answer, just lets his hand find Roman’s in the dim light, and squeezes, closing his eyes as if blocking out the coming day will take the pain away.

 

Watching Seth parade around with Stephanie and Hunter, grinning like he’s done something to be proud of, it’s too much, too much and too hard for either of them to deal with. Dean thinks he’s the only one suffering until he finds Roman, head in his hands in their dressing room, just sitting, silently.

“I miss the fuck out of him.” Dean admits, quietly, too loud in the echoing room.

“It was never supposed to go down like this. We’d beaten everyone.” Roman mutters, head still buried in his hands, “He was supposed to be our brother.”

Dean doesn’t touch many people, always heading down to the ring and avoiding the fist bumps and handshakes that Roman so gladly accepts, coping with the pats on the shoulder he gets in response instead, but right now, he needs to touch Roman. He buries one hand in that thick, dark hair at the back of his friend’s neck and rubs, gentle, like petting a cat, and pretends he doesn’t hear the hitch in the big man’s breathing, like he’d cry if he wasn’t, well, Roman Reigns.

“I’m still here.” Dean says, sliding his hand down to grip the back of Roman’s neck, his hold a promise. Roman lifts his head and leans it against Dean’s thigh, and they just sit, quietly, his breath a warm, heavy pressure on Dean’s leg, and Dean’s thumb stroking the back of Roman’s neck.

 

Another booking, another hotel room, another night where Roman’s only sleeping because he’s completely exhausted, and Dean’s left awake and alone, staring at his phone and reading back through old texts from Seth. Every so often he’ll come across something which makes him want to hurl the thing across the room, or scream, but he lies still, not wanting to wake the man beside him.

**What did they offer you that we couldn’t?**

He regrets the text the minute he sends it, wishes he could take it back, and lets his phone fall onto his chest, screen going black and plunging the room into darkness. Roman makes a snuffling noise and rolls over, draping an arm over Dean’s tense body, comic enough to draw a smile out of him. When his phone lights up again, he doesn’t want to look, but can’t stop himself from seeing what his ex-lover has replied with.

_Success_

Dean’s phone smashes against the far wall, Roman awake in an instant and covering his body as the sobs rear up, unable to be choked down any longer. It doesn’t matter how long Roman tries to pin him down and hold him steady, the cries won’t stop, Dean’s body shaking as he struggles to draw breath against the sorrow.  
He doesn’t tell Roman about the second half of the text.

_And a decent fuck._

 

When it comes down to it, they’re back in the ring, and Seth trying to fuck with their matches isn’t going to go well.

“I’ve got your back.” Roman says, blue eyes a little too honest, “He’s not getting anywhere near you.”

Dean shakes his head, trying not to think about it, his body wired and tense, every muscle straining. Seth’s marks are still painted on his back, mostly hidden by the tank top, and he hates them, wishes he could shed his skin to take them away, but it’s not the first time a betrayal has left bruises, and suspects it won’t be the last.

Seth’s the master of outside interference, and of course they know that, because he played that role for them enough times, but it’s another thing to see him at the edge of the ring, smirking like he played his card so right. Dean sees red, wants to head towards him and give him a few bruises back, wants to break his smug weasel face, wants to kiss the hell out of him and never let him go again. Roman holds him back, and Dean will thank him later, because he doesn’t truly know which one of those three options he would have gone with.

The pattern goes on for months, but after a while, someone gets bored with the game. Roman would put his money on The Authority, probably Stephanie, using her business sense to make sure their feud doesn’t get old and stale. She made a sellable icon in Seth, and she wants to get her money’s worth before she and her husband throw him away, used up and worn out. Steph plays with wrestlers like toys, like daddy taught her, and for all that Triple H is supposed to be the cerebral assassin, he lets his wife play around more than he does.

The Wyatts take a dislike to him and Dean, and Roman spends half his time getting the shit kicked out of him, and half his time stopping Dean from getting bashed about more than necessary. Seth’s winning matches, they know this, know that he’ll be chasing titles and wins now he’s got his Money in the Bank briefcase.

“He’ll be coming for us.” Dean can’t help but say, bouncing on his feet like a boxer, “You know he won’t be able to stay away.”

Roman wonders if that’s wishful thinking, if Seth hasn’t forgotten Dean faster than his friend seems to be able to forget his ex.

“We’re ready.” He says, instead, ruffling Dean’s hair.


	2. a country we couldn't defend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from, and chapter written to Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov. The full line is 'Love was a country we couldn't defend'.  
> I told you the porn would happen.

Famous last words.

The first night they fuck is after Wrestlemania, after Roman not only fails to get his title, but gets pinned by Seth. There’s nothing agreed about it, the two of them just silent in their rage, their loss, their fear and hurt, and Roman can’t pretend it doesn’t feel good to have Dean in his arms when he has nothing else, when everything else has been stolen by Seth. It feels good to take his brother’s lover and push into him, listening to Dean curse and swear, to say his name with reverence and desperation. Dean, who has stuck by him when he could have gone off on his own, Dean, whose lover dropped both of them flat. Roman leaves bruises on his hips and on his collarbones, and tries to swallow down the sense of trespassing on sacred ground.

Going back to work is harder than it should be, watching Seth walk around like he owns the place, flanked by his security, two laughable cruiserweights whom anyone else could take out by themselves, but it’s more what they speak for than their actual ability to protect Seth. He’s got the protection of The Authority now, got Vince’s daughter and son-in-law on his side, and though they don’t keep their toys for long, while they have him, they’ll make as much use of him as they can.

The Wyatts are once more on their backs, and Roman tries not to think of how Dean felt under his hands as he stands beside him, facing down Bray and Luke Harper, drowning out their creepy little singsong promos and trying to get the same reaction from the crowds as he did when Seth was still with them. All that seem to echo now are the boos when he comes out alone, and he wishes like hell that he had his brothers by his side again.

 

Dean lies awake at night, listening to Roman snore, a fact he loudly denies whenever Dean brings it up, and wonders why he always feels so cold, even on nights in Florida. With Seth, hot against his back, rolling him over and pinning him, he felt like he was running a constant fever, sweat trickling down his spine as he slid into Seth’s tight heat, and the love they shared burning between them. It didn’t matter if Roman was sleeping in the chair across the room, and they were struggling to be silent, or if they had their own room for once, Seth always made Dean feel like he had a home.

Dean rolls over to face the other man in the bed, and Roman moves to him, tucking an arm around his waist, making Dean sigh. Roman is gorgeous, all broad shoulders and warm, kind eyes, but sometimes he isn’t enough to make Dean’s numb fingers stop feeling so cold. He isn’t the firebrand Seth was, and even with the blankets pulled up high over both of them, Dean still aches for the heat of Seth at his back. He yearns for the three of them together again, like they were that May; tangled together as lovers, as brothers, as partners, so certain that nothing could tear them apart. 

That’s the hard part, Dean thinks to himself, as Roman burrows into his neck, breathing hot and heavy against him – he doesn’t think that he could give this up, even if Seth walked through the door right this moment. Roman is more than just stunning, he gives every part of himself when he bonds with someone, and Dean doesn’t know when he’s felt worth more.

“Stop thinking about him.” Roman mutters against his skin, and Dean laughs, quietly.

“Was thinking about you,” he says, and feels Roman’s mouth curve into a smile, “Is that allowed?”

Roman’s answer is to pin him to the bed and kiss him fervently, like a man starved. It makes Dean feel a little less selfish, to think that maybe Roman needs this too.

 

Roman has always loved watching Dean cut a promo, voice angry and raw, full of power and possibility. Now Seth is gone, Roman’s supposed to talk alongside Dean, and he finds his voice hollow, without any ability to emote. That’s another way Seth has broken them, he thinks, remembering how the three of them would just chime in, with no thought, and it would come across as a unified front. It doesn’t work like that now, and Dean sounds crazy, sounds unstable, sounds like he’s veering between laughter and tears. Maybe Wyatt has a point when he says Dean is like him, when he comments that Dean belongs in his family. They were a family once; Roman, Dean, and Seth, and back then they could give Dean what he needs. Now, Roman isn’t so sure he can give Dean anything more than himself.

Dean sleeps a lot when Roman drives, and he takes it as a compliment that he’s trusted to keep them on the road and keep Dean safe, when Dean barely trusts himself anymore. On long drives, the headlights the only light on long and straight dark roads, Dean trusts him to stay beside him, to keep their course, and ferry him through the darkness.

“Wha’ time’s it?” Dean rasps, throat dry and voice muzzy, and Roman glances over, face fond.

“About two.” He says, as soft as he can, and looks back to the road, afraid he’ll give himself away. The way his brothers had led him into their bed in May still makes his breath catch in his throat sometimes, and he wonders if it’s selfish to be grateful that Seth didn’t take Dean with him and leave him all alone.

“Wanna switch?” Dean asks, and Roman just shakes his head, “Sure?”

“Only another hour. You having good dreams?”

Roman wishes he could bite the words back when Dean makes a small noise, and he looks back over to see Dean’s mouth twisted in something bittersweet, the way Roman knows he himself looks when he’s wishing Seth was back with them.

“It was so much easier when I could hate him, you know?” Dean finally says, quiet, almost lost in the sound of the car’s engine.

“Yeah.” Roman replies, unable to find the words to say anything else, “I know.”

The road stretches on in front of them, dark and forbidding, the two of them following the twin glows of the headlights, which barely make a dent in the gloom. It’s not an entirely unfamiliar feeling.

 

Dean wishes he’d never said anything, wishes he could be happy with just Roman, not think of it as just Roman, forget that Seth was ever an option or an opportunity. The way anger fades to loss is the hardest part of seeing Seth every day while slowly forgetting what his lips felt under their own, knowing his skin only in moments of anger in the ring, and feeling his hair only when soaked and sprayed down to keep it from being a good handhold. Dean used to love to watch Seth’s matches and see his hair progressively fluff as it dried out, so that by the end, he resembled an angry badger. Now, Seth’s bleached side is growing out as he becomes more and more the corporate drone, and he might have always looked damn good in a suit, but fuck if it doesn’t make Dean’s heart ache to see that bleached streak vanishing before his eyes.

The last time Seth’s bleach was refreshed, Dean had his hands in nitrile gloves – because a latex allergy is a bitch, and he might have loved Seth, but he wasn’t about to go through that shit for him – painting the foul-smelling stuff on with painstaking care, keeping it a quarter of an inch from his scalp, so as not to burn him. Seth was cursing him anyway, because that’s Seth for you, and Dean remembers laughing as he wrapped the bleached section in tinfoil, scrunching it up and enjoying the sound, Roman joining in from the other bed. That was the night Dean took Seth into the bathroom and, after the bleach was washed away and the window cracked to let the smell out, Seth whispered, voice hidden under the hiss of the shower, that he wanted them to take Roman to bed. Maybe, Dean thinks, he should have been harder to convince on that one.

It takes two more shows before Roman climbs into the driver’s seat of their rental, leans over, and kisses Dean, deep and slow.

“You’re allowed to miss him.” The big man says, when they part for breath, and Dean’s heart is hammering at a million miles an hour, “I know I’m not a great substitute.”

Dean surges forward and kisses the big oaf, fingers tangling in thick dark hair and tugging slightly.

“You’re not meant to be him, you’re meant to be you. We both wanted you, the whole time. We just… wanted each other, too.”

Roman looks surprised at that, and Dean’s voice breaks a little when he goes to speak.

“You thought I was making do.”

Roman shrugs.

“Seemed like a reasonable thought.” He says, and accepts the gentle punch to his upper arm as a response.

 

The hotel is cheap, and dingy, but they’ve got a big double bed, and the minute Dean’s locked the door, he’s on Roman, tugging at his belt, pulling him towards the bed. Roman goes easily, allowing himself to be led, and there’s nothing sweeter than that, so Dean kisses him while he opens his belt and skates rough fingers over the soft skin at Roman’s waist. Roman hisses, stomach muscles contracting at the contact, but he kisses back and brings one big hand to rest, heavy and warm, on Dean’s hip.

“I don’t need this to prove that you want me.” He says, and Dean wants to shut his beautiful face up.

“Maybe you need it to prove that I love you.” He replies, and while Roman’s silent, steps back and strips his own t-shirt off before tugging at the hem of Roman’s, “Seems I thought I was saying it loud and clear, but you haven’t been hearing it.”

Once they’re both naked from the waist up, Dean allows himself the pleasure of nipping little marks into Roman’s throat, and tracing the patterns of his tattoo along his right arm until he’s laying gentle kisses on the pulse point. He sinks to his knees and nuzzles into Roman’s groin for a moment, just pressing his cheek hard into Roman’s thigh and revelling in the size of it, the press of the muscle.

Roman’s hand finds the back of his neck and his fingers stroke gently, tenderly down Dean’s spine as the blond busies himself with opening Roman’s pants and freeing his cock, heavy and half-hard, lifting it to his mouth with reverence. Roman’s grip goes tight as Dean’s lips close around the head, and they both groan at the sensation of Roman hardening fully and stretching Dean’s mouth. 

“Gonna make you cum like this.” Dean pulls back to say, before sliding Roman’s cock back between his lips and sliding down as far as he can go, feeling the stretch at his throat. Roman’s pushing him down, a little, and Dean goes with it, lets him fuck his throat, because this is the one person in the world who loves him back. The one person in the world who deserves to have him on his knees, and so he pulls out every trick in the book, humming at the back of his throat and ignoring the ache in his jaw. Roman grips him hard as his orgasm hits, and Dean’s barely finished swallowing before his hand is in his own pants, frantically jerking himself off as Roman shakes with his own aftershocks, Dean’s hair in a vice grip in his hand.

When they make it to the bed, Roman gathers Dean up in his arms and holds him close, like he wishes skin didn’t separate them, like he wants Dean to crawl inside his chest and live there.

“You love me.” He says, at last, and Dean feels the rumble of his voice through his body.

“Always have.” Dean replies, and lets himself drift off to sleep, Roman’s hand on his waist keeping him close, like any distance would be a betrayal. When Roman kisses the top of Dean’s head, it feels like a benediction – and Dean is sure that he’s never been more blessed.

For once, he thinks maybe it’s Seth who’s missing out.


	3. the king I once was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and sentiment from East by Sleeping At Last.

Seth isn’t certain he’s enjoying himself anymore. When he first sold out his brother and his lover for the betterment of his own future, it seemed like life was going to be easy from then on. He went from sharing a hotel room and a car with two other guys to being driven everywhere by Jamie and/or Joey, and getting a room to himself, able to spread out on the bed without listening to Roman’s snores, or having Dean gabbing in his ear all night. He welcomes the peace, strolling around stark naked without Dean leering and suggesting shower sex, or Roman rolling his eyes and pretending not to look. There’s calm, and quiet, and it takes Seth almost four months to think that maybe he misses them.

When he’s alone in his room, which is often, he thinks back to last May, how Dean looked when he was wild and gasping for breath between them, begging for them to touch him, to kiss him, to mark him up. How Roman’s eyes were dark with lust, and how he looked at them both with worship in his eyes, like he couldn’t believe that he was getting to touch them, that he’d been welcomed into their bed. For a birthday present, it seemed like Dean’s body was the best that either of them could have asked for; Dean’s always been so responsive to pleasure and pain, and watching him come apart under their hands should have bonded Seth and Roman closer than ever before. Instead, Seth had gone straight to see Hunter the next day, and demanded that his betrayal come sooner, rather than later.

Being without them has made him stronger, he thinks, because he likes to believe that pain is something that tells your body that gains are to come, and why should emotional pain be any different from that? But the truth is, he doesn’t feel the pain – doesn’t feel anything anymore, just a numbness where he thinks he once felt love.

The nights are long and dark, and the beds feel too large and empty without Dean in them – without Roman, too, he’ll admit in the witching hours, because the three of them could have pulled together into something amazing – and he wishes he could take it all back, sometimes, when he reaches out across the sheets and finds them cold and bare. Dean always buried into him like he couldn’t get enough, and when they shared a bed out of necessity, rather than passion, Roman was a steady heat and heavy breathing. Now, all Seth can hear are his own thoughts, digging at him and pulling at threads, reminding him what he gave up for the title, and how he has to keep it, has to stay strong, or all of this will have been for nothing.

 

In daylight, it’s easier to focus, to wear the neat shirts, to tie his hair back and look professional as part of The Authority, to fake it until he makes it and mask any nerves with a show of confidence and arrogance. Most people in the business don’t bother looking past facades, anyway, because who cares about the personal motivations of someone when you’re kicking their head in? But Seth has always thought more than was good for him, and he settles his shoulders until they’re looser, belying any tension from lonely nights and poor sleep, as Stephanie and Hunter present him like he’s their new show dog, a prize stolen from another and now theirs to hold a claim over.

Whenever he’s unsure now, uncertain about his place in the world, he can go to Hunter and Stephanie, and they’ll put him straight, remind him where he belongs, and where he’s going to be once they put their little games into place. He’s going to become the most celebrated wrestler in history, they tell him, he’s going to be adored by millions, he’s going to be the guy everyone wants to beat, that everyone wants to be. He wants so badly to believe them, but sometimes he finds himself hanging out in Stephanie’s office until she rolls her eyes and him and shoos him out like it’s bring your kid to work day, and he’s outstayed his welcome.

Seth can’t say he enjoys being shooed out of meetings like a recalcitrant child, but sometimes he has to accept that as the case. It isn’t made any easier by Kane leaning out of the meeting to comment as he leaves.

“Off you go, Seth, the adults are talking now.”

He doesn’t pout, because he’s not going to prove them right, but it does remind him of how everyone’s plans were welcome when he was still with Dean and Roman, and how they would talk strategy into the night, sometimes whispering between the beds, Dean curled up at Seth’s back and Roman scant inches away. Being close like that, talking shop while naked and relaxed, that was what meant teamwork in those days.

But those were the bad days, he has to remind himself, and keeping himself attached to those ghosts isn’t going to help him keep the championship. His boys aren’t his any longer, and seem to be doing just fine without him - not that he isn’t doing well, he makes sure to think, just that it’s lonely at the top in a way he doesn’t believe Dean and Roman have to feel.

Watching them face the Wyatts, watching Roman ’s face telegraph shock and fear as he gets beaten down, watching Dean’s grin slide away - none of it feels good, none of it feels like something he should be enjoying, and it’s so very hard not to run out there and come to their aid. To come to their aid, to celebrate a win with them, to bundle them both into his bed and his life again, like he could wash all that betrayal away with one good punch to Bray Wyatt’s face. The truth, he knows, is nothing like as simple.

 

One night, taping over, his body wrecked and exhausted, but high with the exhilaration of winning, like the old days, Seth sends his security away, waves away the offers of a car, and says he’ll make his own way back to the hotel.

It’s a shock to come around the corner and be face to face with Dean and Roman, knowing J&J are out of earshot.

“Well, look what we have here. Two dogs, off their leashes.” He tries to put as much bravado into is as possible, to stop them seeing that he wants to look over his shoulder and call for help.

“Get out of my face, Rollins.” Dean snarls, all tightly-coiled rage, Roman’s hand on his shoulder as if to hold him back.

“What’s the matter, Dean, still got hard feelings?” Seth asks, lazily.

“You beat me with a chair.” Dean says, baldly, not mincing his words.

“Like that was the worst thing you’ve ever been through.” Seth taunts, smirk wide, and decides to go all in on the aggression, “Not even the worst thing you’ve ever had from someone who said they loved you.”

He watches all the colour drain out of Dean’s face at that, at repeating out loud a secret told in confidence and kept until this moment. Roman’s stony expression flickers. So Dean hasn’t told the big man everything about him, then. Seth feels bad about that, for a second, before he locks those feelings away again, and pastes on his TV sneer.

“I… can’t believe you.” Dean manages to say, through the obvious shock, Roman looming behind him like a silent shadow.

Seth’s grin gets wilder, sharper, because he’s found a weakness now and he’s going to dig his teeth in as deep as he can until he tastes blood.

“Nothing I ever told you was worth anything, was it?” Dean asks, voice low and quiet.

“You were never worth anything.” Seth says, and laughs right up until the fist hits his mouth. When he staggers back, mouth bloody, he’s surprised to see Roman standing there, knuckles bleeding and his eyes wild. He would have thought Dean would step forwards, not let Roman defend his honour.  But when he looks past the big Samoan, Dean isn’t angry, fired up and raging, he looks small and broken, looking down at his own feet, arms around himself.

“No, Seth.” Roman says, and it’s slow, deliberate, “You’re the one who’s worthless. You never deserved Dean, never deserved our brotherhood, never deserved a part in our lives.”

Seth’s stung for a moment, sucking in a breath. Dean is shaking slightly – and he did this, he made his lover a broken shell of a man by carelessly trotting out some words which meant nothing if you didn’t have the context to them. He thinks of Dean as the one full of passion and energy, and to see him so still makes Seth want to throw down all this pretence of hatred and sweep Dean up in his arms, soothe away the hurt he’s caused. But he knows, deep down, that he can’t.

“I’ll get mine.” He says, for lack of anything else to say.

“Yeah.” Roman says, and there’s no pleasure in it now, just a cold, dark, forbidding tone, as he puts an arm around Dean and starts to lead him away, throwing a parting shot over his shoulder. “You’ll get what you deserve, Seth.”

It seems like Roman thinks that’s a bad thing.


	4. don't know where I'm going

Roman guides Dean back to their room, steering his silent companion with a hand on his shoulder, waiting for Dean to explode with violent epithets, but nothing comes. He sits Dean down on the bed, then goes back to the door and puts the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle. He double locks the door, deliberately, before sitting next to Dean on the bed, and wrapping an arm around him again. Dean’s trembling against him, and Roman’s other hand clenches into a fist, reopening the slowly scabbing wounds from Seth’s teeth. No one makes his boy shake and shudder, no one makes Dean weak and needy. As if Dean senses his thoughts, he begins to shift away, and Roman pulls him closer, feeling Dean relax and burrow his face into Roman’s neck.

“I guess you want to know what he was talking about.” Dean says, at last, and his voice cracks with unshed tears.

“I don’t need to know anything you don’t want to tell me.” Roman says, then kisses the top of Dean’s head, nuzzling him a little, “Just because you told Seth doesn’t mean you have to tell me.”

“I should – “

“I don’t care about should.” Roman says, defiantly, and moves back a little so he can see Dean’s face and look him in the eye, “I don’t care what came before, I don’t care what Seth knows. I care that it made you shut down, and that you don’t wanna talk about it. So don’t.”

Dean leans forward and kisses him, slow and steady, eyes still open and looking into Roman’s own.

“One day, one day I’ll tell you.” Dean says, when he breaks the kiss, breathless, his hands clinging to Roman’s shirt like claws, hooked in and preventing Roman from moving away, as if he’d ever want to.

“I love you.” Roman murmurs, almost too quiet to be heard, “And there’s nothing you could tell me to make me change my mind on that.”

The fervour with which Dean throws himself onto Roman pushes the bigger man flat on the bed, Dean leaning on his chest, and the position is so intimate that Roman can’t help but pulls Dean as close as he can, holding him tight, as Dean presses tiny kisses to his throat.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He’s whispering, and Roman wants to shake free and tell Dean that he doesn’t have to be grateful for love, to ask what the hell Seth did to him to teach him that – but of course, he knows. He was there. He took the hits too.

“Nothing to thank me for.” He says, instead, voice gruff and low, “Kinda impossible not to love you, once I got to know you.”

Dean doesn’t pull back, doesn’t say that Seth didn’t think so, doesn’t mention anything in his past breaking any of his faith in people, just hands Roman his half-shattered phone, open to messages from Seth.

_And a good fuck._

Roman reads it and dismisses it, instantly, but can see that Dean hasn’t done the same.

“We were the best he ever had, and you know it. Don’t let him play mind games with you.”

Dean snuffles into his collar, burrowing in closer, prompting Roman to drop the phone onto the bed and slide his hand onto the back of Dean’s neck, digging fingers into damp curls of hair and scratching lightly at Dean’s scalp. Neither of them says anything for a long time.

 

 

**You’ve got some nerve.**

Seth looks at the phone in his hand again, flicking back and forth between the last message Roman had sent him, and the last one before his betrayal:

**Best birthday ever, man. Thanks for sharing.**

The two seemed incongruous side by side, like he’d only been gone five minutes before Roman had stopped being grateful for a shot at his boyfriend’s ass, and was suddenly angry with him. Course, he has more than a shot at it these days, and Seth tries not to feel jealous or insecure about that. Sure, Dean had been – he can’t even lie to himself and say adequate here – the love of his life, but sometimes relationships had to suffer for personal gain. He thinks about it, though, Dean and Roman together, wonders if Roman’s bottomed yet, how they look when they kiss, if the sly blowjobs Dean used to give Seth in the locker room are now given eagerly to Roman instead. It’s none of his fucking business anymore, but he can’t say he likes the idea of Roman fucking into Dean in his place, Roman being the one spotting for Dean in the gym, the one to buy him those weird smoothies he likes afterwards.

“You okay, Seth?”

Fucking Hunter, head around the door without even knocking, like living with his parents again, and Seth fights the urge to throw something at him and complain about it.

“Yeah, yeah, just getting – just getting my head in the game.”

Hunter grins, and Seth looks down again, not meeting his eyes. The first few times he’d gone out for matches, he’d come back in, all pumped up, to an empty room, and lot all his adrenaline in one fell swoop. He’d be lying if he said he’d never been on his knees in front of Hunter, his boss’ cock in his mouth, and someone else’s name on both their lips. It won’t happen again, he’s sure of that – but sometimes he just wants to feel wanted. Hunter’s hand in his hair makes him jump, anyway, but it’s a small, soothing gesture rather than a demand.

“You’re doing so well, Seth. So well.”

Seth looks back down at the black screen of his phone as Hunter leaves, then decides it might be time to send something back.

_How do you like the new bitch? I taught him everything he knows._

It’s a vicious, painful lie, and his heart twists as soon as he sends it, knowing that Roman won’t show Dean, knowing Dean would eviscerate him if he saw it, and knowing that this doesn’t really matter, because neither of them give a shit about him anymore, and that’s how he made it. It’s his own fault that they don’t love him anymore, he has to remember that, he chose this, he made it this way, and he can’t go back now, can’t swallow his pride and beg for them to take him back – and he wouldn’t, he tell himself, even if he could, because he wants the titles, the big matches, the roar of the crowd following him even when it’s mostly taunts and jeers.

The picture that comes back from Roman takes his breath away; Dean on his back, head turned to one side and fresh, livid bites up his neck, Roman’s hand splayed out possessively on his chest, nails digging in just the slightest amount. Dean’s mouth is half-open in pleasure, and his eyes are closed, so Seth thinks Roman must be fucking him through it, and Seth can’t decide if he wants to delete the picture and pretend he’s not heartbroken, or save it and look at it later tonight.

**The only bitch we know is you. How’s that cold bed working out for you?**

They know him too well, that’s the problem, he let them in too deep and now their claws are all over him and he can’t find a working method to strip their hands from him. The nights are dark and lonely without the two of them, even if he doesn’t think of how Roman’s hands decorated both of them so prettily, he misses Roman being close, being silent and breathing quietly in the darkness as Seth fucked into Dean, or tried to blow him silently, three people breathing in the same shared space, as close as brothers, close as lovers, three souls split by only skin.

When he does let himself think about the way they were, those two nights in May, when their birthdays were close and all Seth could think to do was bite at Dean’s neck and ask him about it, how to offer Roman a way into their bed, into their lives even deeper than he was already woven, and he remembers the way Dean had agreed instantly, a little breathless and half-hard at the thought, like he couldn’t wait. He remembers how Dean had demanded to be fucked, like it was his birthday, and how Seth had grinned and said he’d go second, how Dean loved sloppy seconds almost as much as he loved being them. Roman had looked fucking reverent as he entered Dean, like he was being granted some sort of miracle, or like he hadn’t known that he could have this, and Seth remembers the way Dean’s face looked, the same sort of love and devotion. Seth doesn’t suppose he looked much different, watching Roman – all raw power – press into Dean, who could never keep still and kept bucking up into the bigger man, until Roman put a hand on one of his hips and told him to be still.

Better, still, had been the next morning, Seth and Dean sharing Roman’s cock between them, strings of spit and pre-come stretching between their mouths as Roman awoke with a groan so sinful that it should have been illegal. Seth had pushed into Dean, still fucked out from the night before, and Roman had prepped him, carefully, gently, like Seth was made of china, before finally seating himself and giving Seth the best fuck of his life. He remembers thinking that he’d never felt more alive, and he knows it’s true – a title belt can’t compare to knowing just how loved he was, and how perfect things would be in the future.  But the way Dean and Roman moved around each other, after, the way they touched, the way Roman’s eyes would burn with heat when he saw Dean, and how Dean no longer tried to be quiet when Roman was in the next bed, the tell-tale sounds of Roman jerking off to the two of them fucking – it was too much to bear.

He barely knows he has a hand on himself before he comes, messily, into his fist, and rolls over, reaching automatically for someone who isn’t there anymore. Once he’s cleaned up, he sends a text back, hands still shaking, but the corporate mask back on.

_Who says I’m alone?_


	5. watching me go up in smoke

Dean loves Extreme Rules; the one night that the company let him get as aggressive as he needs to, as he used to, the one night that it’s no hold barred and nothing is illegal. Having Roman watching be keyed up about it makes it more fun, somehow because Roman looks at him like he’s a buffet before a starving man.

“Hoping for a chance to break Seth’s face.” Dean grins, all madness and wide eyes, and watches Roman lick his lips at his expression.

“You don’t know they’ll let you.” Roman says, placidly, as they start to unpack their ring gear, waiting to hear who they’ll be facing tonight, “But I’ll admit, I wouldn’t be averse to watching you take him down. Might even help out a little.”

Dean’s grin widens, making him look feral, and Roman can’t remember a time he’s looked hotter, all sharp edges and bared teeth. They have a few hours before anything starts; they always like to get places early, to make sure they get a room to themselves and that no one’s lying in wait for them. It’s a habit from the Shield days, when they had very few friends anywhere on the roster, and with Seth turning against them, they have even fewer now. It’s prudent to make sure they’re safe before setting up and finding out who their matches are. If anything, this thing with Seth might have brought them more friends, but it’s made them much more cautious about trusting them.

“I’d let you hold him down for me.” Dean murmurs, lost in thought of his revenge against Seth for a moment or two.

“Like that’s anything new.” Roman says, without thinking, but Dean just looks at him with his best unimpressed face, “Like you weren’t thinking about it last night.”

There’s no heat to it, it’s not an accusation, just the acknowledgement that neither of them has got used to being together without Seth being involved in some shape or form. As much as they’re solid, together, and have been fucking on the regular for a month now, there’s still a sense of emptiness where there should be Seth, all vibrancy and life, all brash voice and splayed out limbs. They’re incomplete without him, no matter how hard they try to be a steady couple.

“He’d look so pretty with your hands on his wrists.” Dean purrs, and Roman relaxes from tension he didn’t know he was carrying. It’s one of the better days – but of course it is, because Dean’s looking forward to beating the shit out of someone in the most violent capacity he can tonight, and that’s something that always gets his blood pumping, “Would you hold him down so I could fuck him, open him up for that big dick of yours?”

Dean’s always had a way with words, the gift of the gab, and it makes the hair rise on the back of Roman’s neck to hear him talk this way.

“Sure you wouldn’t want to fuck his mouth while I pinned him? Stop him saying all those childish little lies and shut him up for once?” Roman offers, doing his best, and knows he’s getting better at dirty talk when Dean groans, honest and loud, with his mouth open.

“Fuck, Rome, you can’t just say that shit, he looks so good when he’s trying to swallow around me, like he wants to push me away but pull me closer at the same time. Such a good little cocksucker – wonder who’s getting use of him these days.”

Roman shudders at that, thinking of Seth on his knees for them, for anyone, for the whole of the Authority. He’s watched Seth go down on Dean, seen the obvious pleasure in his relaxed throat and closed eyes, and he wants to see it again someday, when he’s allowed to stare as much as he wants.

“Bet he can’t get enough to keep him satisfied, the little slut.” Roman tries, but the truth is, he can already imagine it, and he’s losing the will to keep on speaking when he could be touching Dean instead. They have time, after all, and if Dean can think of Seth for once without losing his temper, they could have themselves a fair amount of time to fuck this out of their systems. It would be so easy, too, to just let the dirty talk become sex, and Dean likes to be relaxed before matches anyway; blowjobs are an easy way to make that happen. But it seems like now they’re finally talking about Seth, they don’t want to stop, even just for long enough to get each other off, which at this point will hardly take long.

“Fuck, yes, such a pretty little whore.” Dean coos, like Seth is in the room to hear it.

“Remember his birthday?” Roman asks, rhetorical, because they’ve both done little but remember it since, “When you ate him out, fuck, ‘til he was sopping wet with it, and it was so fucking easy to slide inside him.”

Dean moans and steps closer, until he’ got one hand clenched in Roman’s shirt, and the other on his hip.

“We both know the bit you liked the most was after,” Dean purrs, hand caressing Roman’s hipbone, a hard and steady presence, “I thought you were gonna get hard again straight away when I told you to hold him open so I could suck your cum out.”

Roman can’t contain the broken noise of want that he makes at that, both the thought and the memory. Seth’s hole had been red and used, and with Roman’s big hands holding him open, it had been easy for Dean to nuzzle in close and lick him clean. He’d kissed Seth after, too, swapping the cum between them until Roman had to break them apart to kiss them both with the worship they deserved, tasting himself on both their tongues.

“You always were filthy sluts.” Roman manages, and Dean’s kissing him like he’s never wanted to do anything else, sliding his hand into Roman’s sweats and finding his cock, playing his fingers along it like all that talk wasn’t enough foreplay.

“I still am for you.” Dean draws back to say, and Roman almost can’t remember what he’s referring to as he tightens his fist around Roman’s cock and jerks him punishingly. It barely takes a minute before Roman’s coming, dropping to his knees and licking Dean’s hand clean before ripping the other’s jeans open and getting his mouth around him just as Dean floods his mouth, almost choking him. He swallows, hard, and doesn’t think about how he wants to hold all of Dean inside of him forever, where Seth can’t get at him. He hopes one of them gets to beat the shit out of him tonight.

 

 

“This is bullshit. What the fuck do I care about Harper?” Dean demands, and his voice is quiet, not his usual expansive shouting. There’s no vitriol there, just a resignation that Roman’s not used to seeing in him.

“Could be worse.” Roman says, rolling his eyes at his own match against Big Show, someone slow enough to give absolutely no one pause anymore, “Could be against a mudslide disguised as a wrestler.”

Even that fails to raise a smile on Dean’s face, instead leaving him with a complicated shrug as he keeps his distance from Roman’s open posture, refusing to step into the warmth of his body and let his anger drain away.

“At least you’re gonna look strong when you beat him.” Dean grumbles, and Roman doesn’t tell him that he’s not sure he is going to beat him, actually, if he stands still for long enough.

The Authority must be pulling strings again, because neither of them gets the match against Seth that they crave – Dean and Luke Harper involves a car chase, a bottle of brandy, and apparently all of the furniture available in Illinois. It doesn’t surprise Roman that Dean goes off script when he gets told who he’s facing, or more to the point, who he isn’t facing. When he drives out of the arena, Roman fully expects him not to return until after the show, possibly carrying a limp and bloodied Luke Harper with him. For Dean to come back, finish the match, and be hardly even bruised at the end of it all is fucking ridiculous, and the look Dean gives him says he knows it, too.

They both watch Seth’s match, anyway, because fuck if they’re not going to keep an eye on what the little weasel is doing, and Dean’s already muttering about unfair advantages with Kane as gatekeeper before the match properly gets underway. It’s been a hell of a night, a disappointment for both of them, and Dean’s griping about it under his breath ten minutes in, progressing to swearing loudly towards the end.

“It’s fucking bullshit, they’re not even helping him properly.” Dean hisses, and Roman doesn’t need to look around to know that other people heard that, so he shepherds Dean back to their locker room and convinces him to skip the shower and head straight back to the hotel.

Dean is silent on the car journey back, which is always worrying, but Roman just puts a hand on his thigh and drives, letting the night crowd in around them. Dean brushes past him when they head to the room, and is in the bathroom, water running, when Roman finally gets his key card to work.

He sits, silent, letting the sweat cool on his body as he hears Dean rant and rave at the mirror, relying on the water to drown him out. Roman’s never wanted, never needed Seth so badly, needs Seth to push the bathroom door open and pull Dean into the shower, half-dressed or not, to silence those harsh words with kisses and bites which are infinitely more satisfying. Roman can do nothing but sit there, paralysed by his own fears and the sense that Dean doesn’t really want him, and he hates himself for it.

It’s close to midnight when Roman breaks, gives in and digs out his phone, texting desperately and hoping, hoping Seth is close enough to answer him, that he’ll be of some use.

**Dean’s screaming at himself in the bathroom.**

It feels like hours, but is mere minutes before the response comes back, like Seth didn’t even have to think about it.

_And why would I care?_

Roman snarls to himself, but doesn’t give up.

**Because I don’t know what to do, and you don’t want him to hurt himself.**

Roman shakes his head, it doesn’t matter what Seth is going to say, he knows what the real answer is, so abandons his phone and opens the bathroom door – unlocked, like an invitation – to find Dean in a crumpled heap, rocking slightly. He’d ice cold when Roman puts and hand on his shoulder, and he jerks up like he wasn’t expecting the touch. Roman doesn’t let him say anything, just sticks his hand under the shower spray and turns the water temperature up before stripping off his ring gear and gathering Dean up, pulling his jeans off along the way.

“Come on, into the shower.” He tries, but Dean’s not reacting properly, sluggish and dazed, so Roman simply tests the water once more before pulling Dean under the spray with him and holding him tightly. The water beats down on his back, trying to unknot muscles so full of tension, but Roman can only feel Dean in his arms, wet and slick against his body, and slowly warming up against him.

“Ro?” he mutters, and Roman wants to weep with relief, but instead just pushes some of Dean’s hair back off his forehead so he can kiss him there.

“Yeah, I’m here, Dean. I’m here.”

Dean clings to him as the sobs hit, leaving him breathless and aching, and Roman’s got no idea how he manages to hold up both Dean and himself, because his knees are trembling as he thinks of what they could have been, where they could have been right now if Seth had just been able to cope with sharing the limelight, if he’d been able to stick it out a little longer until both of them had told him they loved him.

“Why the fuck couldn’t he stay?” The words sound like they’re ripped from Dean’s throat, and Roman, not for the first time, wishes he had an answer. Seth’s not coming back, not for anything, and he’s made that abundantly clear, but at the same time, he’s not sure the two of them can live with his memory in-between them like this.

 

 

Pulling a pliant Dean out of the shower and drying him off is easier than it should be, and Roman doesn’t mention how small Dean looks like this, hunched over and trembling.

“I want him back, Ro.” He says, almost too quiet to be heard, and Roman flinches, because he’ll give Dean anything he wants, but this is something he can’t deliver.

“I know.” he says, instead, and curses that he’s the stolid, sensible one, that he can’t break down like this, because god knows he want to, “I love you.”

He can’t help but think it sounds like a consolation prize.

Several hours later, with Dean finally calm and quiet in his arms, Roman checks his phone to make sure the alarm is set, and notices the two unread texts flashing at him in his notifications. He opens them, despite his better judgement, because Dean is snoring quietly against him, and he might need to know what’s in them.

_Aww, does big bad Roman need my help?_

_Do you need me to come find you?_

Roman shouldn’t respond he knows that, knows Seth is just mocking them, but fuck, his heart aches enough for one night, and Seth needs to know what he’s done to them – both of them, not just Dean, Roman realises, because he loves Seth more than he thinks he can vocalise. The man’s not just been sweet and easy for him in bed, but a challenge to plan with, a smart guy who never knows when to shut his mouth, and Roman can’t believe he has to go day after day without kissing him. He types out the message before he can regret it, and kisses Dean’s shoulder in a silent apology for what he’s about to say, before sending it, and wrapping Dean up as close as he can. It’s true, after all.

**We’ll always need you.**


	6. closer than nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, I've got a lot of medical stuff going on, not least acute kidney injury, which makes it pretty hard to do anything through the excrutiating pain. Also work refuse to pay me properly, so if I'm not crying about my physical pain, I'm crying at how poor I am.
> 
> Also, this episode of SmackDown came before Extreme Rules, but it's not like the WWE creative team care about continuity, so let's just ignore that for now.

It’s hard for Seth not to see it as an opening, the text from Roman, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t keep looking at his phone, hoping for another message, maybe another picture, because as much as they keep saying they hate him, Roman can’t seem to stop sending him little slices of their lives. He doesn’t like admitting that he’s enjoying it, living seeing the snippets of the two people he loves more than anything else in the world – yes, even his title belt. It hurts to admit that he dropped them for this shiny piece of tat, really, and that it’s brought him nothing but grief – and okay, some really fancy stuff, but he sometimes thinks he was happier when they were stuck sharing one bed between the three of them, and sweating away every road trip in a rental with broken air conditioning. They’re his damn family, closer than blood, and staying away from them is getting harder and harder.

Raw was a fucking shitshow, and he’s livid about all of it, every last second, aside from getting Kane on the ground, but he’s fuming when he’s getting ready for SmackDown, staring at himself in the mirror and tugging at the blond streaks still left, like he can make them bloom and blossom, climb back up to the root and make him who he was before. Out in the ring with Joey and Jamie, posturing and pontificating about his own success, Seth loves the power he feels, and the way the crowd, as much as they claim to hate him, hang on every word. He’s a powerful orator, he knows this, fuck, knows how his words have the power to raise people up or bring them to their knees. He even managed to make Dean hate him, for which he probably deserves a medal. Or possibly a space in one of the nastier pits of hell.

When Kane comes out, Seth’s expecting congratulations, the empty praise of the corporate drone, because what’s best for business is keeping the champ happy and Kane will always do what’s best for The Authority first, and himself second. Well, almost always. When Kane tells him to lie down, Seth’s first thought is no, then hell no, then fuck no – he’s the champ, he doesn’t lie down for anyone, but Kane’s eyes speak fire, and Seth finds his knees weakening without his consent, reminded of when Roman would tell him to get in the car, open the door, carry the bags, and he’d do it, led by those calm words. Kane is far, far from calm, but all of Seth’s instincts are telling him that upsetting the biggest threat he has on home turf is the stupidest damn plan he’s ever had.

He lies down.

 

“What the fuck was that, what the FUCK was that?” Seth’s roaring, the second he’s out of the ring, and Kane just smiles that shitty little enigmatic smile, and shrugs, “I’ll fucking kill you for that, you – “

Triple H has a hand on his shoulder, and Seth turns, slowly, into that face that looks as if it would crack if it were to try a smile.

“You were supposed to fight back, Seth, not lie down like that. Kane had to improvise. I don’t like mistakes.”

Seth can do nothing but bite his lip and look his boss in the eyes, trying for disingenuous. How can he say that he’s always liked taking orders from someone, how he’s good on his knees and always has been, how he misses Roman. Roman, that’s the key, Roman who’s used to a big family, all over each other all the time, and Dean, touch-starved Dean, and how the two of them would sit at Roman’s feet and he’d tangle his hands in their hair and pet them, and how Seth has never felt more valued or wanted than sat there, one hand touching Dean, one hand on Roman’s ankle. They’ve never needed sex to combine the three of them, but when Seth thinks of how it would pull them together, he curses his decision to leave.

“That won’t be happening again, will it?” Hunter is saying, in a tone that brooks no argument, “You won’t let me down, will you, Seth, because you know what the price of failure is.”

No belt. No chance at the US Championship. No security, no support, no fancy hotel, no car waiting to take him to the box for his workout, no help.

He nods, silently, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat that is half fear and half sadness. Hunter digs his hand into his hair, and it’s nothing like Roman’s was, his nails scraping wounds into Seth’s skull like he wants to take him as a prize. Seth regrets ever letting this man stick his dick in his mouth, regrets letting Hunter use him. He deserves better than that, knows he does, but Hunter’s dragging nails over his scalp and Seth curses the number of times Dean called him a slut puppy, because it’s clearly true. When Stephanie walks in and Hunter lets him go like he’s some sort of trash, he’s grateful but hurt.

**We’ll always need you.**

So easy for Seth to hear that in Roman’s voice, to hear it as if the big dog were in the room with him, but all he can hear is Stephanie’s braying laughter, so much like her father, as she slaps Kane on the back.

“Good way to sell a scary Kane, Seth, but we’re trying to make you look strong, not like a little bitch.”

Her tone is mocking, sharp, and her husband laughs too, like a puppet or a toy, and before he knows it, they’re all laughing at him, and the only thing he can do is leave the room, head back to the hotel in silence, and try not to think about how his brothers’ hands had felt on him, how much like home that had been, and how he’d do anything to be back with his family again.

 

Hearing Dean’s music hit had practically been a religious experience, but that was nothing compared to Roman, flying out of the darkness and coming to Dean’s aid. Someone who didn’t know them both so well probably wouldn’t have seen the look Roman gave Dean, the tiny nod Dean gave back, their silent communication to check they were both okay. When Roman had gone for the superman punch, he’d telegraphed it, and Seth had time to get out of the way – it almost felt like they weren’t fighting at all. Watching his boys take out Harper – and seriously, why the fuck did anyone ever care about Harper? – it was hard not to smile, hard to keep raging about Kane putting him into that match, how he’d barely had time to strip his t-shirt off before Dean had been on him. But more than anything, he thinks of how his brothers saw him lie down for another man, and it makes his blood run cold.

He looks back at his phone, alone in the hotel room, and wonders if Roman would pick up if he called him right now, if Dean would be there, if they’re fucking right now, without him, and it’s like a physical pain to think of them together, being in love, without him in the middle. For a second he thinks about standing up, putting his jacket on and leaving the room, finding them and crawling between them to beg for forgiveness – but J&J are just outside the room, he can hear them milling around, and who would take him back anyway?

**Shitty thing for Kane to do**

His phone lights up, and it’s Dean, fuck, it’s Dean and he’s not angry, and Seth wants to cry because this is almost a conversation starter, and he can’t fuck this up.

_Turnabout is fair play, I guess_

Seth’s almost breathless as he waits for a reply, unable to speak and unable to move, lying alone in the dark and feeling more alive than he has for months. Fuck, he wants them back with him now, thinks of messaging Roman too, letting him know he’s missed, he’s wanted, he’s loved – but of course, he’s not the outsider anymore. That’s Seth, and he put himself in that position.

**So you won’t fight back when I pay you back for the chair shots?**

Seth’s phone skitters across the floor, gentler than he could have been, but he still doesn’t want to see it right now. Dean’s just toying with him, he doesn’t want him back, he doesn’t want anything from Seth that isn’t revenge and cold steel, and there was nothing in the way he looked at Seth to make it seem any other way. He is so sick of being hopeful, of trying to do what’s best, of ruining his own life with stupidity and greed. He'd wanted Roman alongside Dean, and then he’d seen how they looked at each other and realised he had no place getting in between them, but now he’s out on a limb, on his own, and he doesn’t care if they never touch him again  - he’s lying, he’s always lying, he’ll die if they don’t love him – but he needs to be with them, needs them to look at him with something other than hatred or disdain.

His phone buzzes again, and against his better judgement, he stands up, picks it back up and heads back to the bed with it. When he opens the message, it’s a picture, and this time he throws his phone for real, before running to grab it again so he can stare at it.

In the picture, Roman and Dean are both shirtless, clearly on a hotel bed, the sheets mussed and rumpled around them. He can’t see much further down than their ribs, but Dean’s head is resting on Roman’s shoulder, and the two of them have their hands meeting in such a way as to make a heart, each of them curving their hand into a ‘c’ shape, and they’re smiling, golden and glorious, with a heart to the camera.

**It’s broken without you.**

Seth cradles his phone to his chest, and sobs for the first time since last July, weeping into the pillow, biting at his own fist to keep the noises quiet and to stop his mouth falling open in a scream. What the hell has he done?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the wonderful kookiemee


	7. how far we could go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has an 8tracks mix now [here](http://8tracks.com/neffectual/sweet-prometheus-come-home) because music is a huge part of how I write. Also because why not.
> 
> So that's Payback covered. Finally, the timeline is moving!

Dean’s been stabbing Roman in the back for weeks now, both of them fighting to get their claws into Seth, and Roman wants to take it all back, to say they’ll choose who wins between the two of them, that they won’t fight over this, not when they’re both desperate to have Seth back anyway. But for some reason, he can’t, he can’t step back and let Dean take the revenge he absolutely is owed, because Roman’s got a score to settle too. Orton? Orton’s just there to make up the numbers, none of them care for him and no one will take too much time over him.

Watching Seth walk up to the ring, his security laughably with their arms out, keeping supposed admirers at bay. As if anyone loved Seth anymore, despite the scream coming up with his music. When he’s announced, the arena is full of booing, and Roman can see Dean’s face twitch in a tiny smile before it’s smothered down, all business. They’re not a team tonight, and Roman would do well to remember that. Of course, Seth’s hobbit buddies start him off on a good footing, but it’s not long until Dean has him over the ropes, with Orton, and comes flying into both of them. Roman picks his spot carefully, before launching himself over the top rope and into all three of them, knocking them down like skittles. He gets Seth on his own in the ring, after a good punch, and tries for an early pin. No luck.

Dean and Orton end up in the ring, Roman dazed on the outside after Dean fails to get the pin, and can see the two of them going at it, Dean doing his best, but Randy knows a little of his brand of madness, and is ready for it. Roman sees red when Orton gets the pin, and leaps in to break it up, leading Randy away. Stupid, he thinks, but then, he doesn’t want Orton with the title either. Dean might not be his teammate, but he’s still his friend. Dean take Orton out of the ring and Roman’s hit from behind by Seth, then gut punch after gut punch, knocking the breath from him until he’s crouched in the corner, panting as he gets stomped over and over. Roman tries to get up, and sees Seth coming back for more, before backing off to the opposite corner to get a run up. He closes his eyes, and only knows Seth is on him when the impact comes.

Seth retreats again, and Dean wriggles into the ring, catching him mid-run and giving Roman time for an elbow, dropping Seth to the canvas with a roar. He can’t help it, but he wants to touch Dean, wants reassurance, wants him to know that this isn’t going to ruin anything. Dean holds out his fist, and Roman bumps it, playfully, grinning. They’ll take down Seth together, and then maybe it won’t matter who wears the belt. Dean gets the first go, then Roman takes his turn, beating the hell out of Seth, mouth vicious and sharp, because he knows what this man feels like when he’s coming apart around him, when he’s on his knees with sweet, soft eyes and an open mouth, and this betrayal has hit harder than anything.

Dean pulls Seth to his feet by the hair, only to knock him down again, and Roman’s aware that he’s smiling, because they’ve waited so long for this. Dean makes a slight – ever so slight – gesture, and Roman responds by cocking his fist a little, readying for a superman punch, and watching Dean’s grin grow wider. He’s readying himself, just as Kane goes for his ankles, dragging him out of the ring and throwing him into the barricade. Everything’s fuzzy, but he can hear Kane grunting, and the sound of Dean’s footsteps, so he knows Dean must be getting him back for that. When Roman can look up, even a little, he sees Dean back in the ring with Seth, Dean looking dazed, and Orton just stirring on the other side of the canvas. No. Not like this.

Kane and J&J take out Orton again, leaving Seth free to focus on Dean, and Roman’s desperately trying to get up, trying to get to his boys, Dean barely kicking out of Seth’s first pin. Even with Seth’s high-flying, Dean kicks out of the second pin, but he won’t be able to keep doing it for long. Seth wastes time arguing with the ref, because he’s never been good at accepting the world doesn’t run just for him. The time between counts is getting longer, but Roman doesn’t think Dean’s getting up anymore, not from the impacts he can hear, and then there’s another count, which seems as if it might go the distance – but Dean kicks out again. Roman breathes, trying to clear the darkness from his head.

“Chokeslam – “ Roman hears, and thinks the worst, knows Kane is up there now, knows he has to get up, he has to, because he’s not leaving Dean like this, alone against four men. Somehow, the count stops at two again, and Roman can’t believe it. Orton grabs Kane by a leg, and Roman’s filled with a surge of pride for Dean, so flings himself at Kane. Bullshit interference. Shouldn’t be allowed. Still dizzy, he feels Orton slam into him, and goes down again. Dean’s on the floor too, Roman can hear him cursing, can hear Orton and Seth above on the canvas. Roman can see Seth on the edge of the apron, and there’s a flash of pleading in his eyes as Orton grabs him by the hair, and fuck, Roman thinks, this is not the time to remember how Seth likes his hair pulled when he’s giving head. He needs to get back in the game.

Seth wriggles and tries to pull Orton over with him, but it doesn’t quite work. Roman is panting, desperately trying to get his legs to work and get them back under him. He sees Orton and Seth come off the top rope and waits for the three count, pulling air into his lungs, but the count stops once more at two. Orton takes it to the outside, hitting Seth with a clothesline so hard that Roman feels the impact. When he slams Seth into the barricade, right across the shoulder blades, Roman swears he can feel Seth’s pain. Orton goes for the announce table, and Roman grins a little, because you never give a little weasel like Seth any time to recover. Dean’s up, still sluggish, and Roman feels his legs rise underneath him, moving to attack Orton as well.

Roman bounces Orton off the ring post and limps over to him, holding his shoulder. He’s breathing hard, and there’s a moment where the three of them realise, at once, that Orton is circled by the hounds of justice – and they may not be a pack anymore, but they are certain that whoever wins this, it should be one of them. They set up for the triple powerbomb, and when it goes off, Roman’s almost breathless with the exhilaration, and roars for the crowd, his boys, his family, back together. It lasts until Seth flings his arms around them and puts out his fist, and Roman surprises himself by striking first.

Dean is going off on Seth, and they both aim for the Spanish announce table, practised, knowing each other, ready for the powerbomb. Dean has Seth by the hair, and fuck if it’s not a pretty image, seeing him pulled backwards like that, mouth open – no, Roman thinks, head in the game. Kane comes up behind him, but it’s two on two now, and he and Dean have been doing this for much longer. Seth’s flopped on the Spanish announce table, and he and Dean set up to send Kane through that and Seth, and they hit it.

The crowd chants ‘one more time’, and Roman’s never felt more powerful than he does right now, knowing they’re cheering for him and Dean, knowing Seth will feel this impact for days, slamming Kane back into him and watching the table break.

“Not much left to do.” Roman hears himself say, and knows he’s grinning.

“Nah, there’s not.” Dean affirms, smirk wide.

“Loser buys the beers?” Roman suggests, and Dean smiles, before he turns and heads into the ring.

Roman follows him, slower, watching his lover move, and fuck, he wants him, right here, in front of all these people, wants to show Seth what he’s missing, show him just how strong and gorgeous Dean is, and just what he gave up. Dean gestures ‘come on’ with his hands, and Roman steps closer, the two of them knowing no one will hear what’s said.

“Winner gets to top.” Dean says, grinning.

“Now there’s a prize worth fighting for.” Roman replies.

They trade punches for a moment before Roman tries anything else, and isn’t at all surprised when Dean gets him on the ground, but it’s easy to go for the pins, easy to lift Dean at the last second and slam him into the mat, like he’s not half-hard and desperate for this to be over so he can drag him backstage and fuck in the dressing room. When Dean kicks out, Roman grins and wags his finger.

“I don’t wanna do this, man. I don’t wanna do this.” He says, looking at his fist, the smile threatening to split his face.

“To hell with that.” Dean replies, looking up at him.

Roman moves away, cocking his fist for the superman punch, and Dean blocks, easily, rolling him up and going for the pin. Roman lets him get to two before kicking out and going for the second superman punch. This one connects, and Dean’s out on his back, Roman’s so sure he’s got the pin, and then Dean kicks out again. When Roman looks over, Dean looks completely out of it, the same way he does when Roman’s balls deep in him, and he has to look away and gently punch the ring a little in order to will his erection down. He finally pushes his hair off his face and crouches, looking over his shoulder at Dean.

Dean’s barely crawling, so Roman sets himself up in the corner and roars – a warning, a threat, a come on – knowing Dean will hear what he means. He runs into a kick from Dean that smarts, but he’s not going down to dirty deeds. When Dean bounces off the ropes, Roman sidesteps, gets the spear, and it’s all over – until Seth leaps on the two of them, breaking the pin. Suddenly, they’re not playing anymore, and Roman knows his eyes are cold and terrifying when he looks at Seth and the other backs away.

“You want to go with me?” Roman says, angry, low and full of threat. Seth scrambles away, out of the ring, and Roman looks at Dean, slumped in the corner. He’s not going to win like that, not when he could pin Seth and share the victory with Dean. Seth’s crawling around the ring, almost desperate to get away, and his ass is incredible. Roman could watch him crawl for hours – and if he’s not careful, someone’s going to notice that he’s hard. He stalks after Seth with as much dignity as he can muster, throwing J&J away from him. They aren’t the prey he wants.

Once he gets Seth back in the ring, he goes for the superman punch, an gets hit with a clothesline from Dean he wasn’t expecting, looks up to see Dean and Seth share a look, just a tiny second, before Dean hits dirty deeds and gets Seth on the mat. The pin count is one, two – and then Dean’s being dragged out of the ring by Kane, clawing at the mat as he goes. Roman can hear the clang of the steel steps, but can’t focus, gets there just in time to meet the steps coming his way from Kane.

He feels Kane’s hand in his hair, knows what’s coming and tries to brace himself for the chokeslam on the stairs, then feels Kane land heavily on him, hears Orton cry out. Fuck, hadn’t they buried him what felt like hours ago? Seth’s still in the ring, he thinks, can see Dean lying motionless too far away to reach, Kane barely moving. The world is swimming in front of his eyes, threatening to go black, but he has to get to Dean.

He can hear Orton hitting the RKO, can see Seth’s feet, doesn’t know what’s going on. Seth must hit something from the top rope, but Randy’s ready for that, always is, and Roman’s struggling against the darkness behind his eyes. Kane rolls in and out of the ring swiftly, and then there’s a count and Seth’s music rises. Roman sits up, head in his hands. He can’t believe he let himself get so distracted by his dick that he didn’t end that match earlier. It would have been easy. Eventually, he gets himself up, and leaves, without even looking at Dean.

 

Rounding the corner, angry, still sweating through his ring gear, Roman slams into someone, and looks up, spoiling for a fight. Seth stares back at him, eyes wide, mouth soft and pink, and before Roman can do anything, Seth’s got a hand at the back of his neck and is kissing him, hard and unyielding, and it feels so fucking good, so fucking right to have Seth under his hands again that he doesn’t fight it as Seth pushes him into a dressing room. It’s cushier than his and Dean’s, he notes briefly, before Seth’s got him up against the wall and is kissing him desperately, their teeth clicking together as Seth bites at Roman’s lower lip and growls.

“Fuck, Ro, that was so hot, you’re so fucking hot.” He pants, desperate, and Roman doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t think of Dean, just threads his fingers into Seth’s fluffy hair and pulls him back to his mouth, like he’s trying to devour his very soul through his lips. It’s messy and wet and vicious, but it feels so fucking good, feels like he’s on fire and Seth is the only water around for miles, feels like he’s drowning and Seth is a life raft. Feels like home, Seth in his arms and rutting against his hip, grinding up hard and moaning, panting like he’s never wanted anything so badly. It feels so good to be wanted, to be desired like this, hungry and sharp, the way he’s missed it with he and Dean sniping at each other for half the month, feels good to be the one chosen for this. He grinds into Seth a little more and gets a gorgeous little mewl from him, a noise that goes straight to his dick and makes him so hard it almost hurts. If Seth is beauty in the ring, all high-flying moves and slick sidesteps, then in pleasure, he’s so beautiful that it takes Roman’s breath away. Seth looks so good like this, hard and showing through his latex pants, pupils blown in dark brown eyes until they’re almost black, mouth gaping like he can’t decide whether he wants Roman or oxygen more.

He slips a hand into Seth’s tight pants, but there’s no room to manoeuvre, so tugs at them until Seth wriggles them down to his ankles and spreads his legs. Roman opens his own pants and hisses and cold the air on hot skin, before Seth is on his again, their cocks held together in one of his hands, and he’s always been so good with his hands. It’s hot and they’re sweating, and it should feel wrong, but all Roman can think is that he hasn’t touched Seth like this, in something other than anger, for close to a year, and he’s wanted this so much. Seth kisses like he’s got something to prove, the same way he does everything, and it’s gorgeous, makes Roman want to watch him come apart for him. When Seth’s strokes speed up, Roman tears his mouth away and makes a strangled noise of pleasure, everything too much and too good, Seth too perfect and precious and right in his arms. Roman’s too far gone for kissing now, just murmuring spit-slick nothings into Seth’s neck as the champion twists his wrist just so, and moans loud enough that someone’s probably going to find them. Roman can’t bring himself to care.

“So pretty, fuck, god, Seth, Seth – “ Roman pants out, before he’s coming, his ex-brother’s name on his lips, and Seth follows him over, biting down on Roman’s collarbone as he comes, messily, between them. They stay like that for a few moments, sharing small, gentle kisses, before Seth steps back and searches for something to wipe his hand on, choosing a t-shirt before proffering it Roman. He doesn’t seem to want to meet Roman’s eyes.

“Thanks.” Roman says, quietly, as he cleans himself off and drops the t-shirt to the floor before re-fastening his pants.

“That shouldn’t have happened.” Seth says, too loud in the silent room.

“I know.” Roman replies, feeing his heart sink, “You’re Dean’s.”

So much for being wanted, needed, so much for being the choice. Seth picked him because he was the nearest warm body and because he knew how much Roman wanted him, because Roman’s fucking transparent when he loves someone, and it breaks him to know that Seth used that. He feels his face become stony again, all emotion fading away as he tries to shove all these feelings back in their box, to pretend he doesn’t have a brilliant technicolour memory of how Seth looks laid out beneath him, and just how tight and hot he is. It’s been almost a year, and yet he’s still obsessed with that night, the three of them together and feeling whole, complete, necessary. He doesn’t know when he’s going to stop deluding himself.

“I thought that was your job now.” Seth fires back, and Roman shrugs, giving him a rueful smile full of regret.

“We both know he’s only with me because you’re not here anymore.”

Seth shakes his head.

“I was always the second choice.” Roman continues, “So thanks, I guess. For giving me the chance to see what it would feel like if he loved me.”

“You won’t tell him.” Seth says, and sounds so sure of himself that Roman wants to punch him, wants to kiss him, wants to pin him down at the wrists and fuck into him until he screams.

“Yeah. I will.”

As he walks out, he thinks he hears Seth start to say something, maybe ‘wait’ or ‘stay’, but Roman’s betrayed Dean too, now, and he has to go and face his punishment, own up to what he’s done. Not a moment of madness, not a slip, but taking a chance with the other man he loves so desperately down to his core, and he can’t expect Dean to understand. Dean, after all, only loves one person.


	8. there's better brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from 'Brother' by Murder By Death. The full line is 'I know there's better brothers, but you're the only one that's mine'.

The second Triple H is out of sight, Roman turns to Dean and makes a face which only the big dog can make, mouth a moue of disgust and eyes unimpressed to the max. Dean knows that Roman doesn’t want to leave him out there to face Seth alone, doesn’t want to leave him alone anywhere. Since Payback, Roman’s stuck to him like glue, and Dean can’t quite work out why. Nothing seems to have changed, but they’re fucking more often – no, that’s not accurate, because the way Rome pushes into him is reverent, worshipful, not like fucking at all. It’s like he’s trying to draw out every bit of contact they have, and Dean loves it, but hates it in equal measure, because he likes his alone time every so often, likes to be able to go out and get drunk in a bar, and come home to sloppy blowjobs at 3am. Having Roman with him is supposed to be a blessing, but it’s wearing on him. He’s not happy that Ro can’t come and help him in this match with Seth, especially with Kane ringside, because these fuckers never play fair, but he’s a little thankful he’ll get some time to himself.

“It’s bullshit.” Roman says, voice deeper with anger, and Dean shivers, because he’s only human. He kisses the pouting lower lip until Roman kisses him back, slow and intense. Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing Roman, touching Roman, being able to put his hands all over him like this. He chances a cheeky squeeze to Roman’s ass, because he’s always been the type to take a mile when given an inch. Roman yelps into his mouth, and steps away grinning.

“I’ll surprise him.” Dean says, cocky and leering, suggestive almost, and watches something flash in Roman’s eyes before they’re back to being warm and kind.

“Always, baby.” Roman answers, and smacks him gently on the ass. Dean’s turn to grin now, heat rising with the adrenalin. Cutting the promo had been hard, they’d done it two days before because he couldn’t have stood here, this close to Seth, and said those things, been able to say how he’d betrayed them without losing it, been able to say that Seth was going to get what was coming to him when he wanted to punch the smug smile off his face or see if he could kiss it away instead, see if Seth still responded to all those soft places where he’d once gone gentle for Dean, once loved to be touched.

When he thinks of someone else with their hands on Seth, someone else kissing him, someone else getting him off, it makes him flinch and twitch, makes him feel sick to his stomach and wounded, like a blow to the gut. He wants Seth laid out beneath him, wanting, begging, wants to remember what he smells like because all of that is fading, and Roman, glorious, gorgeous Roman is everything, but he’s not enough to keep Dean from going over the edge. It’ll kill Roman if he tells him, Dean knows, it’ll kill him to know that Dean still lies awake wishing Seth was at his back – not between them, just with them, with both of them, because he loves them both with every fibre of his being, and he doesn’t know how to voice to Roman that this is not a betrayal, that this doesn’t cheapen what they have.

Dean’s never thought it weird to love more than one person at a time until he fell for two people who were both incredible, wonderful people and didn’t seem to understand that you could love two people with equal measure. He knows Seth wanted to try Roman out, to see if threesomes were as kinky as he thought, but it’s obvious he saw the hunger in Dean’s eyes and mistook it to mean that he loved Roman more, when he just loves Roman enough. His love for Roman drove Seth away, and he’s not going to make the same mistake again, no matter that he feels lost and broken, like half of him is missing, without Seth at his side. Roman should be enough for him, Roman and his broad shoulders, his kind heart, his big warm hands and the way he kisses with such love and meaning. Roman’s love should be enough. It’s just that it isn’t.

 

When Dean walks out, Seth has his security and Kane at ringside, and his heart twinges just to look at him. He looks so good like that, so smug and self-assured, championship over his shoulder, and Dean wants to fuck Seth while he’s wearing that shiny piece of rubbish, wants to win it off him and wear it while fucking Roman, wants all three of them sharing it between them, but he knows he can’t. He has to get his head in the game. He can’t let himself get distracted just because he loves Seth to the moon and back. He’s not lying down for a traitor, no matter how pretty he is.

Seth’s hair is dripping down his ring gear, making it slick and shiny, and Dean wants nothing more than to chase those trails with his tongue, to bite at Seth’s neck and make him moan and whimper like he used to. He steps forward without meaning to, and it takes the ref’s hand on his ribs to make him step back as Seth holds the title aloft. Fuck, but he looks so good with it, even when he kisses it. Dean steps away when Seth starts stripping off his shirt, revealing a body he knows so well and yet, not at all anymore, Seth’s body changing with how much more effort he’s putting in, how much effort it takes to hold the championship. He licks his lips without meaning to, and gets ready for the match.

Dean knows he’ll have to keep a close eye on Seth’s little lackeys if he wants to win this, and he’s not fooling himself into thinking that Seth’s only okay with winning clean; they’ll both use every dirty trick in the book they can, because they’ve always been that type of guy. Roman’s the only one of the three of them who cares about winning things the proper way – Dean and Seth just care about winning.

A couple of deep arm drags get Seth on the mat, and for a second, Dean can almost pretend this is sparring, them warming up together in the gym like they used to, but this is a fight, and Dean’s using as many submission holds as he can, keeping his eyes on the lapdogs while listening to Seth cry out as his shoulder joints are stretched. He’s always been pretty like this, the pain slut in him crying out for a little more, to be taken a little further, and Dean idly wonders if he’s hard already. He lets go and Seth rolls out of the ring, his security asking for a time out, and Dean grins wildly and shakes his head. Seth’s got his hands over his groin. Yeah, he knew that would make trouble. Dean flops flat on his back as the count starts to get Seth back in the ring, and rolls his eyes when it gets Seth back on the apron. So predictable.

He goes for the shoulder again, but Seth’s not stupid, one of the things he’s always loved about him has been his sharp mind, and instead, it’s Dean in the corner with a foot on his neck, gasping for breath. They haven’t even got started yet. Getting Seth by the neck a few minutes later feels so good, feels like he should hold him there and lower his mouth on Roman’s cock, give him Seth like a present, and he’s not going to pretend that the half-mast he’s sporting is all ring adrenalin. He goes for a few good chops, careful to get Seth right across the pecs, where it stings the most, and watches him fall, wincing. This is almost playing, now, doesn’t feel like Seth’s really trying to beat him. Either that, or Seth’s getting used to other people doing his fighting for him, whereas Dean’s always fought his own corner, since he was a kid.

It’s a fucking stupid idea to try and take shit to the top rope, where Seth is most at home, but Dean goes for it anyway, because if they’re going to call him crazy then he may as well live up to it. He might have got away with it if Seth’s miniature attack dogs hadn’t got involved, he thinks, as he’s hanging from the ropes. Seth goes for the pin, but Dean’s not going to give it to him. He might be stuck out on the apron and barely able to move, but he fights the next pin anyway. He’s not losing like this. If he has to lose to Seth, he’ll go down fighting. When Seth has him by the neck, he refuses to tap out. If he has to hold on until he fades away, he will.

The crowd are chanting for him, calling for him, and Dean grins through it, through Seth calling him ‘Deano’ and slamming him into the ring, making sure he kicks out at two. He can barely see, he’s hurting bad, and when Seth slams him again, the boos ring out. When they’re both down on the mat, Dean’s desperate to get to his feet, a count of five, clambering up and getting the punches in. He will not fail, he will not fall, he will not lose. He can’t.

The reversals, the rolling, Seth between his legs or planted on his chest makes him feel warm, wanting, heavy in the gut, but he can’t afford to lose focus here. He won’t lose focus. For a second, he thinks he has him pinned, but Seth kicks out and Dean can hear Joey and Jamie calling out encouragement. He’s furious in that second that he’s not allowed Roman in his corner, calling out to him, but knows it’s the right move. Ro wouldn’t be able to keep himself out of this fight, and Dean needs him not to interfere.

J&J pull Seth out of the way, but Dean’s not having any of that, and Dean slides through the ropes, taking them both over the announce table and right into the barricade. Dean throws Seth back into the ring and tries a few good spots, but Seth’s a slippery fucker and catches him on the jaw with a well-placed kick. Everything’s weirdly quiet, the roar of the crowd sounding dull in his ears, but manages to kick out, knowing Seth’s frustration will give him a moment to recover.

Seth goes to the top rope and Dean’s up, moving, getting him in the corner and grinning widely, but Seth’s fighting, so Dean drags his nails up Seth’s back, the way he used to, the way he knows Seth loves it, and hears the whimper next to his ear and Seth’s fast intake of breath. Fuck, but that’s still hot, and he wants to bottle that sound and keep it with him all the time. Seth gets him on his shoulders, but has to let him drop, and then they’re both over the ropes, Jamie and Joey trying to get involved but the ref keeping them back.

He tries his usual apron trick, spinning around, but he forgets for a second that he worked with Seth, trained with Seth, loved Seth and told him all his little tricks, and Seth flings him into the barricade like he’s just so much trash that needs taking out. It’s fuzzy, and his breathing doesn’t seem quite right, so he goes easily when Seth lays him down in the ring, whispers softly to him, but he remembers he’s in a match. He kicks out.

Seth goes up to the top rope while Dean is still trying to stand, woozy, listening to his own breath rasp in his chest, and when Seth’s knee hits him, it’s too late. Seth rolls him over with his head, of all things, and nips gently at Dean’s side as he does so, something they used to do before. It sharpens Dean enough that he manages to kick out, although he knows that this is an unwinnable battle now. All he’s doing is stalling for time. Even with Seth lifting him and slamming him back into the mat, he still kicks out. He won’t make this easy for Seth, not this time, won’t trust him to be at his back, won’t be so easily taken down. He knows who Seth is, now, and he won’t let him get his own way anymore.

He crawls to the ropes, getting himself into the corner, and Seth comes after him, grabbing him by the face and making him look up at the face of a man he used to love.

“It was never about you.” Seth spits, and Dean feels that, right down to his core – the betrayal, the Shield, their relationship – it was never about him. He can’t find the words to reply as Seth runs across for the coup de grace, leaving Dean draped across the ring ropes.

“Come on. Come on, boy.” Seth says, slapping him about a bit, and Dean just wants Roman to be there, Roman to dig his hands into Seth’s hair and show him who the boy really is out of the three of them, “I am the future, and you – “

Dean can’t hear anymore, can’t listen to this, can’t watch this creature who used to be the man he loved – who he still loves, even against his better judgement – talk like this. They trade corner to corner, before Dean lets Seth run into the turnbuckle and takes the tornado DDT through to its conclusion. Seth kicks out, and Dean wants to scream. Seth is still face down though, so Dean lets himself pant, tongue out, and grin. It’s not over yet. He stands up to watch Seth try to crawl away.

He gets Seth round the back of the neck and gets a few good knees in before getting him with a dropkick to the chest. Seth has to be hurting now, must be, bent double over the ropes. He’s surprised when Seth gets up, getting back into the ring, but goes for the clothesline anyway, and is surprised when Seth can still kick out. They’re both exhausted now, breathing heavily, but Dean thinks he might just have this. He gets to the top rope, Seth still recovering in the middle of the ring, and hits him with an elbow that’s dropped much bigger men. He can’t believe it when Seth gets a shoulder up again.

Dean’s shaking, gets Seth by the neck and the hair, the way Seth likes to be held when he’s having his mouth fucked, but lets go for a second to try and get Seth’s security off the apron. His downfall is turning his back on an admittedly wobbly Seth and turning back around to two strong kicks, getting sent over the top rope, and then being leapt on by Seth and slammed into the announce table. He’s not sure how much more punishment he can take.

When Dean gets all three of Seth’s laughable security on the ground, he goes for the top rope, tries to decide who to aim for, and goes, in the end, for Kane, Joey and Jamie. He figures he may as well. It knocks more air out of him than he thought it might, but Seth’s still lying on the side of the apron, so he figures he’s probably okay. When Seth comes to try and send him back into the ring, Dean hits him with a clothesline, and watches Seth go down. He figures he probably shouldn’t enjoy that so much.

With Seth back in the ring, Dean goes again for the top rope. He catches the official as well as Seth, and swears as he falls. Seth goes for something impressive off the top rope, but Dean isn’t going to lie around and watch it land on him. The cat bastard lands on his feet anyway, and gives Dean a chance to hit dirty deeds. The new official slides into the ring, and it’s one, two, three – and Dean’s won. The belt’s handed to him, and he can’t believe it, can barely contain the excitement, can only think of Ro and how he’ll be cheering backstage for him.

Seth’s on the floor like he can’t believe it, and Dean’s desperate to go back and see Roman, to kiss him and show him the gold, the title, show him what his boy’s done. And then the official he bumped is in the ring, talking, and Dean’s clutching the title like he’ll fight anyone trying to take it away from him, but Lillian’s saying he’s still the winner, and he’s elated – and then she says the dreaded word. However.

Seth’s on his knees outside the ring with joy, Dean’s on his knees inside it and feeling all the colour draining from his face. This can’t be, he won, he was so sure – he won. The officials are trying to get the belt from him, but he won’t let go, cradling it to his chest and keeping it away from them. He won, didn’t he? Seth and his security are on him in a flash, and the title is wrested away from where he’s holding it tight, Seth digging his nails in to make him let go.

Roman’s music hits. Seth looks to run away, but Roman’s there with a superman punch, bringing the title back to the ring, back to Dean, before spearing Kane, and Dean runs to the title, doesn’t care that he must look like a little kid going for his favourite toy. J&J try and wrench the belt from him, Roman punches them out, Seth goes for it and Dean sends him over the ropes. Finally, side by side, Roman grins at him, and Dean lets his eyes go wide. He won. He’s holding the title, he won. Ro grabs him by the shoulders, smiling, and Dean has to say something. He goes for a mic.

“Tonight, baby, the champ buys the beers.”

He and Roman make their way out of the ring, Roman’s hand on his lower back the whole time, like it’s dying to slide down lower, and Seth can do nothing but stare as they go. Good, Dean thinks. Serves him right.

 

They make him give the belt back. Obviously they do, because they can’t let someone like Dean Ambrose have the title, and The Authority always gets what they want. Dean fumes through the whole Raw taping, furious with himself, and when he catches Seth’s eye, the idiot tilts his head to the back, and Dean’s fine with that. If he wants to get the shit beaten out of him somewhere the cameras can’t see, great.

The second they’re both backstage, Seth is on him, kissing him, biting at his throat, and Dean’s paralysed for a moment, because this is all he’s wanted, but then he thinks of Roman and finds the strength to shove Seth away from him, where he hits the wall hard.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, furious with Seth, with himself, for not being able to do this, “We’re done, Seth, we’ve been done for a long time. You don’t get to fucking touch me whenever you damn well please anymore.”

Seth looks confused, and it’s as adorable as ever, but Dean doesn’t let himself get caught up in it.

“I thought – “

“I don’t care what you thought, you don’t fucking touch me. You know Rome and I are – whatever, it’s none of your business. Just know that you don’t ever touch me again, Seth. You betrayed us, you stabbed us in the back, and you’ve got no right to come in here and put your hands all over me like you’ve forgotten all about it.”

“Like you don’t want me back.” Seth tries, but the cocky smile is weak, and the statement is almost a question. Dean softens, he can’t help it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you back, Seth.” He says, slowly, but puts a hand up to stop Seth getting closer again, “Let me finish. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you back, but you’d have to earn your way back in. I don’t fuck traitors, I don’t like being betrayed, and I hate my trust being broken. You can’t just walk in and expect everything to work out for you. Besides, I’m… I’m not giving up Ro for you.”

Seth’s face twitches, like he desperately wants to say something, but thinks better of it. He shakes his head.

“One kiss. For old time’s sake.” He says, desperately, and Dean wants to, wants to so badly that he can almost taste blood from how hard he’s biting his lip.

“No,” he says, at last, when he thinks he can control himself, “Not without Rome’s okay. We’re not you, Seth. We don’t betray each other.”

With that, he walks away, eager to find Roman, needing to tell him about this, needing him to know that nothing happened before Seth says something to someone and it all gets blown out of proportion. He needs to show Roman that he belongs to him, that he’s not going to walk away, not going to cheat, not going to be a scumbag like Seth. He’s not stupid enough to throw everything he has with Roman away for one brief moment with Seth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. Looks like Dean's a little better at resisting temptation than Roman is. Whoops.


	9. bring you back to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from 'Breaking Light' by Vienna Teng and Alex Wong. Full line is:
> 
> Leave the battlefield, leave her hand  
> Brother you will return  
> For we are a woven thread, find the strand  
> Brother you will return  
> In the breaking light
> 
> So listen to the darkness, listen to the patterns  
> Listen to the breathing sea  
> Listen to the colors, carry them inside you  
> They will bring you back to me  
> In the breaking light

Roman’s phone buzzes late at night, after Raw, Dean curled up against him and snoring, something he pointedly denies actually doing.

_He didn’t kiss me._

Roman doesn’t have to ask who ‘he’ is, knows Seth means he tried the same tactic with Dean that worked on him, and that Dean didn’t fall for it. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to, doesn’t have the words he needs to make himself feel better.

_He said not without your okay._

_I thought you said you’d tell him._

_He said the two of you don’t betray each other._

_Maybe I should tell him._

Roman doesn’t want to reply, doesn’t want to give Seth the satisfaction, but knows that if he doesn’t, his relationship with Dean is over.

**As if he’ll believe you.**

It hurts to send it, hurts to remind Seth than no matter how much Roman loves him, they’re never going to be like they once were. Dean won’t take Seth back, not after what he did, and as much as Roman wants to hold Seth again, he can respect that. He might want to feel Seth’s mocking mouth against his, to bury his fingers in that fluffy hair, to have Seth with him all the time, but that doesn’t mean Dean wants the same. He understands that Dean won’t ever trust Seth again.

_He said not without your okay._

**I’m not giving you the okay to kiss him.**

Roman wants to name what they are, wants to say ‘my boyfriend’ or ‘my lover’, just anything that’s mine mine mine, to cement his grip on Dean as if he doesn’t know that, if Seth called, if Seth apologised, Dean would be right back there with him. There’s no space for him, that’s why he won’t say yes, why he won’t let Seth kiss Dean, because one kiss would be all it took for Dean to forget about him, and Roman can’t let go. Dean might never trust Seth again, but he hasn’t stopped loving him, and though he claims to love Roman, it’s not the same.

_Means he still wants me._

Like that’s news. Roman’s always known that he’s a placeholder, an interim lover while Dean tries to forgive Seth for what he’s done, while Dean waits for Seth to come crawling back to him. He’s not certain it’ll happen, but Roman’s not kidding himself that the love Dean supposedly feels for him is anything like the love he feels for Seth. Dean and Seth were wrestling soulmates, were a pair before he came onto the scene, had always been this gorgeous, well-oiled machine that he felt left out of when the three of them shared a room. He knows that they knew when he was listening, when he had a hand on his dick the day after they’d all fucked, listening to Dean fucking into Seth so hard that it sounded like he was punching the air out of him.

**Of course he does.**

Dean snuffles into his neck, and Roman draws him closer, the line of heat where their bodies meet searing into him, like he can make it stop hurting, like he can make it stop feeling like he’s second best.

 

When he wakes up, no more than an hour later, his phone is pressed to his face, making all sorts of probably hilarious indentations, and Dean is fully dressed, sitting on the side of the bed with a coffee in his hand. Roman accepts it gratefully, despite the late hour and pulls himself to sit upright before taking a sip. Dean won’t meet his eyes, and Roman wonders if Dean’s read his texts with Seth.

“What’s up?” he asks, anyway, because he can’t help himself.

“Seth – “ Dean starts, then pauses, clearing his throat before he continues, “Seth tried to kiss me last night. I didn’t – I wouldn’t let him, but I thought you should know.”

“I know.” Roman says, before he can stop himself, and watches Dean flinch, “He texted.”

“I should have said something – “

“He kissed me after Payback.” Roman grinds out, from between his teeth, “And I let him, I let him… it wasn’t just kissing.”

Dean stands up, moving away, and Roman can feel the moment that he’s lost him, the moment he knows Dean won’t ever be coming back, before Dean’s turning back to him with a small smile on his face.

“Was it good?” he asks, voice gentle, and Roman could easily be fooled by that, “I know you’ve missed him, his body, I know the way I miss his hands.”

Roman can’t answer, doesn’t dare, because Dean’s smile will fade into hatred when he says something, when he says how right Seth felt under his hands, how he didn’t think of Dean at all except to think how good it would be if they were all together again. He doesn’t want to admit to Dean that he’s had a hand on himself in the shower thinking of how Seth felt against him, that he’d do it again if it didn’t make him feel so guilty.

“Ro, you’re allowed to miss him.” Dean adds, when Roman stays quiet.

“Not like this.” Roman says, and hands Dean his phone before getting out of the bed and starting to dress as Dean reads the messages he’s been trading with Seth. He’s mostly dressed when Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and gently turns him, pulling him into a slow kiss.

“What’s it going to take to make you believe I love you?” Dean asks, and the hurt is written large over his face, but fuck it, this is hurting Roman too, the lies and pretending that he’ll ever be anything more than a placeholder until Seth worms his way back in

“When you look at me the way you look at him.” Roman says, and takes his phone from Dean’s limp hand, “I’ll get another room and catch a ride with someone else tomorrow. Don’t worry about it.”

He walks out, pretending he doesn’t hear Dean howl after him, pretending he isn’t waiting for Dean to run to him, drag him back into their room and prove him wrong. The hand on his arm doesn’t come, and he hears the door shut behind him before he even reaches the elevator.

 

Sleeping alone is harder than he thought it would be, and he realises he hasn’t slept in his own bed for a year, not without Dean pressed against his side and warm against him. The sheets feel cold and empty, and he keeps reaching across them to get to Dean, before remembering why he isn’t there, why he’s alone. It’s second nature to check his phone, to see when Dean’s going to come in, when he’s going to get to see him again, and that’s when he sees the messages from Seth.

_Someone said you got your own room._

_Want some company?_

He shouldn’t and he knows he shouldn’t, but Seth felt so good underneath him, Seth’s always filled all his little cracks and spaces so well, and he’s angry and needs someone to do what they’re told, needs Seth pathetically grateful to be with him, needs Seth begging and hungry for it the way he’d hear Dean make him, the way he was those nights before he betrayed them. He knows he shouldn’t.

**Room 117**

_I’ll shake my security._

Roman takes a shower in the hopes that he won’t hear the knock on his door when it comes, that he’ll miss Seth completely, that he’s not about to cheat on his – something – with their brother, their lover, but when he gets out of the bathroom, hair dripping down his back, there’s a furtive knock on his door. For a split second, he thinks of ignoring it, but he’s lonely, he needs something he can’t get by himself, and so he pulls the towel tight around his waist and opens the door.

“Fuck, Ro, look at you – “

Roman shuts the door the second Seth is inside, and Seth’s on him like a starving man, hands roaming hungrily until Roman pushes him back.

“I thought you wanted something.” Seth says, and he’s so brash, so cocksure, but under that veneer is this desperate need to know he’s wanted.

“You’re being greedy.” Roman says, voice devoid of the warmth he wants to show, “I want you to be good tonight, so you’re gonna shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.”

Seth’s mouth is open, but he’s soundless, so Roman takes the time to look him up and down; sweats and some band t-shirt, nothing that can’t be easily replaced, soft and careworn. Seth looks comfortable, glasses on and hair in a bun, and it’s so much like the old days that it makes Roman’s heart ache to see him like this. It doesn’t stop him from wanting control tonight, though, and he pushes on Seth’s shoulder until he drops to his knees.

“So this is a thing now, what, are you meant to be my master? Dean used to – ”

He pulls Seths hair out of its sloppy bun and next thing he knows, his hand is in Seth’s hair and tugging, and it takes Roman a second to realise he should relax his grip a little, Seth arching up on his knees to take some of the pressure off his scalp.

“I don’t want to hear about what you did with Dean. Sir is fine, if I want you to speak. I think there are better uses for your mouth, though.”

Seth’s eyes go half-lidded, the way he used to when he’d spread out on the bed, well-fucked, Dean in the shower, and Roman would join him and pet his hair until Dean came back. Roman has a feeling he won’t go easy, though, even though he probably needs this.

“And why should I do what you say?” Seth challenges, eyes up and head cocked to the side.

Roman twists his hand in that thick hair again, noticing he’s got what’s left of the bleached streak wrapped around his fist, and tugs a little harder.

“Because you want this,” he says, dropping his towel and watching Seth’s eyes fly to his dick, “And you’re gonna do anything I tell you so you can get it.”

Seth whimpers, a noise he doesn’t even look like he knew he was going to make, before he sneers.

“What makes you think – “

His words become a pained cry as Roman tugs at his hair again, watching the scalp turn white under the tension.

“What was that, Seth?” he asks, slackening his grip only slightly.

“I – I want  - “

“Oh, Seth. This isn’t about what you want, this is about what I want to take and what I want to give you, and right now, I don’t feel all that charitable. Now, you got safewords and shit I should know about?”

Roman smirks as Seth gasps for air and shivers against his hand – such a slut for a bit of rough treatment, and Roman hasn’t even got started yet – before he can find words.

“Just stoplights. Red, yellow, green.” He manages, turning his head into Roman’s palm as much as he can.

“And right now?” Roman asks, carefully, ready to drop his hand if he need to. He’s angry and fucked up, sure, but he’s not going to hurt Seth. Well, not any more than he wants to be hurt.

“Green.” Seth says, if a little quieter than usual, “Sir.”

That’s more like it.

 

Seth strips easily for him, glasses off and hair down, and he’s even more like the man Roman watched for years, just waiting to get a taste. He’s had it now, knows how Seth feels right down to his toes, knows how Seth can fill him up until he overspills, but right now, he doesn’t want to be loved like that, doesn’t think he deserves it.

“On the bed, all fours.” He orders, and Seth looks like he’s going to question it for a second, before he relaxes and follows instructions, “Good.”

It’s a pretty sight, white hotel sheets rumpled under golden skin, and Seth’s head down, hair a ball of fluff against his neck, knees slightly apart like he’s suggesting something but not outright begging – Roman will change that – and the long line of his back an unbroken golden arch.

“How about a belt?” he says, airily, as if he’s not really asking, and ambles over to his case to pull one out, the long strip of leather heavy in his hands, “No buckle.”

“A belt? Are you crazy? I’ve got to be able to move tomorrow – “ Seth blurts out, but stops when Roman’s looking him in the eye.

“That’s not a fucking red, Seth. Be clear, or I’ll throw you out now and make do with my hand.” He threatens, and watches Seth shudder with want. Seth never backs down from a challenge, so he’s playing a dangerous game here. But Seth nods, tightly.

“Green.” He says, eventually and Roman smiles and leans in to kiss him, all teeth and power.

“That’s what I want to hear, baby.”

The marks will bruise, of course, but Seth’s given him green and he’ll keep an ear out for any other instructions, so he lines himself up behind Seth and gives him one practice strike. He hasn’t done this since college, and needs to remember how much pressure is too much. Seth flinches, but doesn’t make a sound, so figures he’s not hitting hard enough. Another few stripes and Seth’s whimpering, arching up into them, and Roman’s putting enough force behind each one that the bruises are already starting to rise up, and Seth’s going to be pretty uncomfortable in the car tomorrow, but Roman doesn’t give a shit, just keeps on marking him up until his ass and thighs are red and purple and blue, like a sunset of pain.

“Seth?” he checks in, finds Seth’s mouth open and eyes closed, like he’s barely hanging on, “You wanna get fucked, baby?”

“Please.” Seth manages, and Roman can’t even be mad that he forgets to add ‘sir’ on the end, because he sounds fucked out already, so he’s pulling lube out of his case and pushing his fingers into Seth too quickly, making him hiss and writhe, but he’s still not saying words, so Roman just keeps going, lining his dick up and pushing in with one strong, steady thrust, hearing both of them groan when he’s fully seated inside Seth.

“Good?” he asks, and Seth just nods desperately. Roman didn’t realise he was so close to the edge from the punishment, but being inside Seth is like being in a vice, and he’s so perfect that Roman can’t decide if he wants to cry or just keep going forever, but he’s coming before he knows it, Seth falling over the edge with him like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

 

When he catches his breath, he pulls gently out of Seth and goes to get a washcloth, cleaning them both up, thumb playing around Seth’s rim in a gentle tease before he pulls the other man into his arms and buries his face in that fluffy hair. Seth rolls over and holds him as tightly as he can.

“You told Dean, then.” Seth says, quietly, not a question.

“He told me first. I let him read our texts.” Roman mutters, mouth close to Seth’s neck, as if he can stop the words from being true, “He… laughed.”

Seth shakes his head.

“I shouldn’t have tried to fuck up what you two have.” He says, and his voice trembles, so Roman presses a kiss to his hair and strokes his back, “I just miss you.”

The way Seth’s voice cracks is horrible to hear.

“We miss you, too.” Roman manages, and then he’s kissing Seth, passionately, desperately, like Seth’s the only air he’s ever found.

There’s a click from the door, and before either of them can move, it’s opening.

“Ro, I don’t want to fight, I know you didn’t mean to, and I know it won’t happen – “

Dean’s voice stutters into silence as the door swings shut behind him and Roman moves to cover himself and Seth with the sheets.

“Did you pick the lock?” Seth asks, voice incredulous but a little fond, all the same. Dean doesn’t even spare him a glance, his gaze locked with Roman’s.

“How long has this been – did you mark him?” Dean’s tone is all shock and hurt and envy, and Roman doesn’t know what to do with this as Seth pulls the sheets up over his bruised ass and thighs.

“Dean, I – ”

Dean doesn’t even let Roman get started with an explanation, which is good, because Roman doesn’t have a clue what he was going to say.

“No, you know what, I don’t care. The two of you are welcome to each other, I should have seen it in the way you look – it doesn’t matter. But you could have just told me and been honest about it.” His voice stays strong right until the end, where it cracks and he swallows hard, audible in the quiet room.

“It’s my fault.” Seth says, softly, looking at Dean, like his eyes have never been anywhere else, “I should have left you two alone.”

“I don’t need leftovers.” Dean snarls, and Roman feels like he’s just taken a boot to the gut, flinching in Seth’s arms. He’s known, of course he’s always known, that he was nothing but second best for Dean, but to hear it like that, he wonders if he hadn’t been fooling himself that he was something more, “I don’t need anyone.”

He’s gone as quickly as he arrived, and Roman just wants to hold Seth forever, to make sure someone still loves him, but Seth’s pulling away from his arms and quickly tugging his clothes on, grabbing his glasses while Roman’s still barely managing to sit up in the bed.

“I’d better go and find him.” Seth says, and Roman notices he won’t meet his eyes, “I need to tell him the truth.”

The truth, the truth that Seth and Dean are meant to be together, that Roman was just the optional extra they tried out but didn’t like enough to keep. That he was a side dish and they were a banquet, and he wanted them far, far more than they wanted him. The truth that, in the end, Roman’s the one who’s wrong, the one who loves more than one person and can’t choose just one, and that even if he could, it wouldn’t matter.

Seth grabs his hand and kisses his knuckles, swift and meaningless, before he’s gone, too, and it’s just Roman in the dark, in a bed that smells like Seth and with a heart that aches for people who are never going to love him back. When he eventually stops listening for the click of the door, and falls asleep, it’s fitful and full of dreams.

He hitches a ride with Bo Dallas in the morning and tries to keep his mouth shut when the idiot asks why he’s not riding with Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For people who don't know, I'm going through a lot of medical stuff right now which means I'm almost constantly in pain which never drops below a 7/10, and hits 9/10 at least once a day. I will try and keep up with updates, but I can't promise happy stuff (because I'm miserable), and I can't promise I won't get too sick to keep to a good schedule.


	10. no more looking back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's uh... been a while, huh?

When he books into the hotel after Money in the Bank, Seth is told that his key has already been picked up for him. It’s not uncommon, so when he knocks on the door, he expects Kane or Hunter to answer it, ready to tell him he got too close to losing the title again. When Dean answers instead, he’s more than a little surprised, but walks in anyway, because it’s his damn room and he’s exhausted.

“I want you to explain what the fuck you think you were doing,” Dean says, and Seth curses that he couldn’t catch up with him the night he’d left Roman alone in his hotel room. That night, he knows Dean and Roman weren’t talking, and every time he tries to speak to Roman, the other man shakes his head and walks away, refusing to give him the time of day. He can’t exactly say he blames them, really, because he’s so caught up in blaming himself.

“I knew he’d need someone,” Seth says, and it tastes like an excuse in his mouth. “I knew he had to have someone with him, if he didn’t have you.”

“Like you’ve got any right to walk back into our lives,” Dean spits at him, and Seth flinches back. He’s never been able to deal with the other man when he’s like this, when he’s raging and furious, always had to hide behind the bulk of Roman between them, but that’s the issue now. Roman, between them, like he’s probably always been, but they’ve been too stubborn to admit it. “Like you have any right to be anywhere near us, ever again, after what you did.”

“I just wanted – ” Seth starts, and Dean doesn’t let him get going.

“No.” That one word is quiet in the still of the room and the noise of their emotions, “That’s the problem with you, Seth, you always want, but you never stick around long enough for that want to be anything else. You’re all take and no give and I don’t know what the fuck I expected from you. But to go to him when you knew I wasn’t there? That’s bullshit, Seth. You knew exactly what that was gonna do to us, and you did it anyway.”

Seth can’t argue with that. He lets Dean take a few moments to breathe out, before he sits on the bed and buries his head in his hands, fingers clenching in his hair, the hair Seth’s never been able to categorise as either dirty blonde or pale ginger. He looks so little boy lost, and Seth did that, Seth made this the case, and he’s suddenly so very, very tired of being the bad guy.

 

“Hell of a way for Rome to lose,” he says, instead of fighting his corner. “He okay?”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, too, because Dean’s head flies up so hard he leaves strand of his hair between his fingers.

“How the fuck would I know?” he snarls, and Seth can feel his eyes go wide. Elimination Chamber was more than two weeks ago, and they’re still not talking? Over him. Seth bites his lip, god, it feels like he’s hitting them with the chair all over again, walking away and watching Roman lie there, seeing the shock on Dean’s face, like he’d never expected to be hurt that much.

“I should never have gone near him,” he says, and bites his lip to keep it from wobbling. He’s not going to cry, not about something he did, because that’s a dick move. Not that he’s a stranger to those, either.

“Why did you, then?” Dean asks, and then shakes his head. “You knew we were both alone so you went to the person you’ve had sex with twice – “

“Three times,” Seth interjects, for accuracy’s sake or just because he thinks he deserves the punishment, he doesn’t know.

“Whatever. Three times. And you went to him, instead of me? Like I wasn’t alone too?”

Seth gapes, because the reason why should be so obvious that it’s almost ridiculous to speak it out loud.

“Because you don’t want me. You turned me down, you said you didn’t fuck traitors, you said no. He’d already said yes once.” He watches Dean’s mouth move, like he’s got a thousand answers and can’t pick, and all the words just aren’t coming.

“You fucking asshole.” Those are the ones he chooses in the end, which is about what Seth expected, “You complete and utter fucking asshole.”

“Yeah,” Seth says, and then Dean is up and off the bed, moving fast like he does in the ring, spinning Seth around and pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Seth’s whole body is tensed for a punch, so having Dean settle between his knees, kissing him, almost feels like more of a blow.

“You stupid fucking asshole,” Dean says, between kisses, “How the fuck could you think I don’t want you? I fucking love you.”

That wasn’t the answer Seth was expecting, at all, and he pushes Dean back a little, leaving him on his knees between Seth’s spread legs, Fuck, but he’s always looked so good like that – even though Dean was usually the dominant one when they fucked, he’s never been quiet about how much he loves to get his mouth on his partners, how much he loves to watch them come apart. Seth catches himself wondering if Dean does the same for Roman, and that hurts, that twist of want and longing and jealousy. He shouldn’t be jealous, he’s got no right to be jealous, but he is, and he can’t stop everything he wants to say bubbling up.

“Then why did you let me go?” Another moment where Dean is gaping at him, not able to form words, and Seth can’t do this, not again, can’t have the whole of Dean’s weight on his shoulders and not have answers. “Why the fuck didn’t you try to make me come back?”

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” Dean answers, and Seth feels that hit him like a physical blow, feels his heart break all over again at Dean’s small voice, not angry and yelling, but just quiet and low like he’s afraid of his own noise. “You left us – left me, Seth, why the hell would I try to bring you back?”

It’s a good question, and Seth doesn’t have the answers for it right now, so he just brings Dean’s face back up to his and kisses him, soft and slow and trying to push in all the words he can’t find. Dean kisses back, his hands clutching at Seth’s knees, digging into his sweats. Seth can feel the press of Dean’s nails, the edge Dean’s always given him, the balance he needs but can never find in his own mind, the way they still fit together after more than a year apart, and he wonders why he ever gave this up.

“I don’t know,” he hears himself say, that little bit of honesty shocking him, from a mouth that has been nothing but lies for so long that he almost forgot he could tell the truth. “I don’t know why I left, I don’t know why you’d try to bring me back, I just know I made a fucking stupid mistake and I need you back, Dean, I need you back because I’m nothing without you.”

“You’re the champion,” Dean says, voice steady even if he’s not meeting Seth’s eyes. “You’re the champion, that was what you left us for, you wanted to get the title and prove you’re the best, that you were always better than us, and you fucking did it so now you want back in. That’s not how it works, Seth. You don’t get to drop us to chase what you want and then show up like everything’s better.”

He gets louder and louder as he goes on, until he’s almost shouting the words, and Seth wants to kiss him quiet again, wants to put his hands on top of the pair still gripping his thighs, but he doesn’t dare move in case Dean leaves.

“I know.” His voice is unsteady, and he swallows, hard, trying to get it to stop creaking, “I don’t get to walk back in, I dropped you for the title but….” But when you’re here, none of that matters, he wants to say, when you’re here with me I couldn’t give a shit about any title but being called yours. The words won’t come out, he can’t say them, and Dean lets go of his knees, hands falling to his own.

“I want you back, Seth, don’t ever think I don’t want you back,” Dean says, and his voice sounds so far away, so soft.

“You love Ro, not me,” Seth says, closing his eyes and waiting for it, waiting for the sting of the words coming from Dean’s own mouth.

“Why the fuck do both of you think you can only love one person at a time?” Dean mutters, then sighs. “I don’t get it, but I don’t… have that. I’ve never had that, I’ve never only loved one person in my whole life, and I’m not gonna start now. I love both of you.”

 

Seth’s struck dumb by the weight of those words, not past tense but present, not ‘I could love you if you were different’ but just an affirmation, like it’s something he should always have known, like it’s been true for a thousand years and yet also like he’s never heard it before.

“I can’t not have both of you,” he says, and doesn’t realise it’s true until the words are already out in the open. “I don’t know how to just have you anymore, and I couldn’t stop thinking about May, about how you felt between us, how Ro looked at you, how I couldn’t stop staring at you, at him, fuck.”

Dean’s mouth is curving in a pale imitation of the grin Seth has always been so fond of, and he wants to kiss it away, or kiss it wider, watch those dimples appear at the sides of his mouth, watch his eyes sparkle again, and there’s nothing he can do but get his mouth on Dean’s again. Both of them are fierce this time, Dean’s teeth in Seth’s lower lip, hands like claws, but when they break apart, panting, Dean’s shaking his head.

“No, no, I can’t, I can’t – “

The well of disappointment leaves a lump in Seth’s throat, because of course Dean doesn’t want him, of course not, because he’s got the glorious god that is Roman, and what he could ever see in Seth is a mystery.

“Right, yeah. Of course,” he says, bitterly, and pushes Dean back, as gently as he can manage, trying to stand up, to get to the door – but this is his room, isn’t it?

“I mean I can’t do this to Ro,” Dean says, before he can decide what he wants to do. “I know you and him had a moment, or whatever, but I can’t do that. You want him, right?”

Seth nods, mutely, unable to say the words, he doesn’t just want, he loves, with every part of him that he believes is still capable of it.

“And I love you, and I love him,” Dean continues, as if Seth had said the words out loud, “And I know those last nights in May were… everything, to all of us. I’m not doing this with just you, Seth. I want Ro right there with us.”

Seth hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes, but they flicker open at that.

“You really want to try… the three of us again? After what I did?” He can’t believe it, his heart in his throat and he thinks he might be trying to cry. “Why?”

Dean smiles at him like it’s the easiest answer in the whole world.

“Because I love you,” he says, and the way he kisses Seth is sweeter than it has any right to be, “And I know you’re never going to let me down again.”

Seth lets his eyes shut as Dean kisses him. He doesn’t know that he can live up to what Dean believes of him, but for this? He’ll do his best to be worth it.


	11. underneath your skin

People who didn’t know Dean very well might have thought he was the sort to carry a grudge to the grave, and maybe even beyond. In some cases, they’d be right; he was never going to forgive the asshole who’d botched a perfectly simple throw and left him tangled in barbed wire for twenty minutes, match called off as they tried to stop him becoming ever more tangled, thrashing in anger. But that was a relative stranger who did something that could have ended his career and cost him an eye. Seth… Seth was different. There was only so long that he could look at Seth and see the man who’d betrayed him, only so long that he could look and still feel that chair coming down against his back instead of soft kisses pressed against his throat, or nails gently scraping over his hipbones.

There’s only so long you can hold onto anger, in Dean’s experience, before it either becomes sour and bitter, marring you forever, or it crumbles into self-loathing, and he’s never been much for either of these options. He chooses, instead, to let it mellow back out this time, let it chart its way around as the earth moves around the sun, and fade back into the love that it was always meant to be. He can’t hate Seth, can’t hold the grudge, not without losing a fundamental part of himself – so he just lets go.

That’s the easy part. The hard part is trying to talk to Roman, trying to find time between tapings and live events, trying to catch his eye when Ro so defiantly doesn’t want to. They room together, travel together, and Roman doesn’t speak except to wake Dean to take his turn at the wheel, or tell him he’s got five minutes to be out of the room before Roman leaves without him.

“I wanna talk about Seth,” Dean tries, and Roman’s shoulders tighten up.

“I figured you’d said all you needed to, after what I did,” he mutters, but Dean wonders if this is the opening he needs, “You told him we don’t cheat, I broke that rule twice over.”

Dean’s not sure if the kisses with Seth count, if the fleeting touches between them when they’re meant to be angry at each other are supposed to matter, but he brings a hand to his lips anyway.

“He and I, we’re….” The words won’t come, and Dean’s infuriated with himself – he can cut a promo like nobody’s business, can sell matches purely on the strength of his words, and can talk someone’s ear off in a bar, but right now he can’t find the words to say he and Seth want to give it another shot, but only if Ro will have them back.

“I figured,” Roman says, anyway, and for a second, Dean thinks he’s understood, before he speaks again. “I’m not blind. You look at each other differently, and you’ve never been so glued to your phone in your life.”

Dean smiles at that; Roman noticing him has to be a good thing, because it means his lover, his brother is looking at him again instead of avoiding him. When he takes another step towards the second twin bed in the room that Roman’s splayed out on, his friend holds up a hand.

“I really don’t wanna hear it, Dean. You made your choice, but you’re not the only one who has to live with it.”

Then, the words do come, like a torrent, like no dam could hold them back, and Dean’s left gasping for breath between them.

“Why does everyone want me to make a choice, there isn’t a choice, this isn’t a choice, Ro, this is not me choosing him. I’m not choosing, I love both of you, and I’m not going through this again, just with you back on the other side of the fence.” Dean breathes harshly into the silence, and Roman opens his mouth, but Dean isn’t going to let him get there. “First it was me and him, then it was me and you. I’m not going back to me and him, and me and you wasn’t really doing it for either of us, admit it. We need our third, Ro. We need him.”

Roman’s shaking his head before Dean’s even finished speaking, mouth a thin line, lips almost white with tension.

“You don’t get to just wave a fucking wand and make it all better, you can’t pretend he never stabbed us in the back just for fucking fame and glory. What you had was meant to be important – hell, what he and I had was meant to be important, and he pissed all over that.”

Well. Roman’s got him there. Dean has to admit, he let go of Seth’s fickleness because to hold onto it would kill him, but Roman holds grudges, Roman lets them all boil back on himself until he feels like he’s responsible for all the pain in the universe, and then treats himself like shit because of it. But there’s something Roman’s not talking about.

“So you mean, I can’t make it all better, but things are good enough that when it came down to it, you could take him to bed instead of coming to me?” It’s a low blow, and Roman looks like he’s taken a punch to the balls when he hears it, face going white and sallow, eyes wide like he hadn’t expected to be pulled up on that.

“I thought you were trying to say you don’t care about that, that you’ve been fucking him for the past two weeks.” Roman attempts to rally, but Dean shakes his head.

“We haven’t done anything more than kiss, Ro. Not because we don’t want to, but because we want you back with us. We’re not complete without you.”

Roman laughs nastily, a dark little noise that sends a chill up Dean’s spine.

“If you think I’ll believe that,” he says, emphasising the words from his fucking promos, because he just has to get the last word, “then you really must be crazy.”

 

Dean drops the subject after that, and while he still sleeps in the same room as Roman, something has come up like a wall between them, and the worst part is, Seth thinks it’s him. He only just retains the title at Battleground, thanks to The Undertaker putting in one hell of a well-timed move to make sure Lesnar didn’t break Seth over his knee, and Dean couldn’t keep from kissing him after he broke Cena’s nose, either, because the uppity bastard has had it coming for so long – but Seth is starting to look tired and scared underneath all the bravado, and Dean doesn’t know what he can do to make it better. Heading into SummerSlam, though, things are different. For one thing, he’s tagging with Roman again.

“Do you want us to win?” Roman asks, in the middle of the night. They’ve both been studiously pretending to be asleep for hours, Dean listening to the hitch of Roman’s breath, like he keeps wanting to talk. He stares up at the dark ceiling for a moment, and hears Roman roll over. “Never mind, forget I fucking asked.”

“Hey, no,” Dean blurts, before he can stop himself, and he hears the creak of the shitty hotel bed as Roman rolls back to face him. The space between the twin beds has never felt so vast, never felt more like an ocean, like the blackness of space, and suddenly Dean doesn’t want to do this with darkness between them. He sits up and clicks on the lamp, watches Roman blink in the suddenness of the glare. “Of course I want us to win, you think I like seeing creepy rednecks beat up my best friend every week?”

Roman shrugs, ever capable of saying with one movement something it would take Dean mountains of words to explain.

“Wasn’t sure I was, anymore,” he says, cautiously, and Dean feels that hit him like a chair shot to the spine. “Not since I said – you know what I said.”

Dean nods in the silence. He doesn’t really know what to say, for all that he’s been waiting for Roman to talk to him. In the end, it’s the other man who breaks the hush of the room.

“That’s… that’s not what I think of you, it’s not – I just said it to hurt you, I didn’t mean it, if I could take it back…”

Dean’s across the room and sliding between the covers of the other twin as soon as he says it, Roman gripping him in a hug that’s almost bone crushing, the two of them holding on so tight, like the world will end if they loosen their grip. Roman presses a kiss to Dean’s throat, over the pulse point, the apology unspoken and yet still heard.

“I know,” he says, finally, Roman kissing his hair lightly, the way he does in the ring, the way that’s just the three of them, Roman congratulating his boys with murmurs of praise and a press of lips to their temples like an absolution, a benediction, a blessing. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

When he falls asleep, Dean has Roman spooned up behind him, two large men squashed into one small bed, and though he complains about the crick in his neck and the soreness in his back for the whole of the drive the next day, Roman smiling back at him somehow makes the ache lessen.

They stop midway through the trip to stretch their legs, take a bathroom break and load up on snacks, and when Dean gets back to the car, Roman is leaning against it like some sort of high school cool kid, and it takes everything in Dean not to pin him against the hot metal of the bodywork and kiss him relentlessly, right there, for anyone to see. Instead, he leans next to him, and lets their thighs press together

**I think we might all be okay.**

He texts Seth, sending a snap of the two of them grinning like idiots in the sunlight, both in sunglasses and their hair flying everywhere with the wind. There’s blue sky behind them – and for once, Dean thinks he might not be afraid to hope.

 

They win their match, and Roman’s got an arm around him backstage, pressing him gently back against the wall and murmuring little nothings, promises, half-heard things he wants to do to him later, when they’re back at the hotel. Dean’s dizzy with it, the win, Roman so close, but he won’t leave early.

“I have to stay and see Seth’s match, Ro, come on, you know you want to see him beat Cena,” Dean says, breathless, pressing back against Roman like he can make him stay with just his body alone.

“Maybe,” Roman says, and cards his fingers through Dean’s hair, softly, reverently. “Tell you what, I’ll go back, get a shower – you text me and let me know what you two are doing.”

He doesn’t say ‘and if I’m welcome’, but he doesn’t need to, Dean hearing it anyway, and he resolves that tonight, he’s going to get the three of them in the same bed again, whether it’s to hold Seth through losing his title, or the impossible idea that he’ll actually win it. Roman slips away, and Dean washes off in grotty arena showers before settles in backstage to watch the match, nodding at Jon Stewart as he wanders past, looking vaguely interested in all the proceedings. It’s a shock, then, to watch the TV host run down to the ring and stand there, staring wildly between the two men in the ring, before heading to Cena and taking him out.

When Seth comes backstage, clutching both titles, he’s got Triple H and Stephanie hanging off him, Kane, Jamie and Joey there too, and he catches Dean’s eye for a second. Dean nods, without a word. He’ll wait his turn, heads out to the rental car and stands in the dim light, waiting for Seth to come home to him.

Dean wonders when he started to know Seth so well that he could recognise his shadow, but he can, and spots it before he sees the figure sauntering towards him. He realises his fingers are cold, and shoves his hands in his pockets before Seth gets close, grin huge and shining out of the darkness.

“Champ buys the beers?” he says, reminiscent of old times, and Dean doesn’t care who might see them, has to pull him in by the back of the neck and just hold him there, the two of them pressed forehead to forehead, breathing into each other’s space.

“Champ gets what he needs,” Dean mutters, and feels Seth’s body go stiff, hears the drawn in breath before Seth goes limp for him, breath rushing out in a hot exhale onto Dean’s cheek as Seth pulls back. “That sound like what you want, baby?”

“Yeah,” Seth breathes out, almost not a word at all, “Come on, let’s get back.”


	12. blood from a stone

The drive to the hotel is mostly silent, Seth’s hand on Dean’s knee the whole time, not gripping, but just enough strength and tension to show how keyed up he is for this. Pulling up, Dean pauses and sends a couple of texts to Roman, checking Seth’s room number with him carefully before sending it.

“Steph and Hunter got me a suite,” Seth says, breathless, “You can have me on every surface in there, both of you, you and Ro – fuck, please Dean, send the fucking texts and let’s get somewhere where no one can make an exposé out of me on my knees.”

Dean doesn’t know how they make it past the front desk and up the stairs without scandalising the entire lobby, but the second the elevator doors are shut behind them, Seth is in his arms, mewling and whimpering as he grinds up against Dean’s leg. Dean, for his part, gets his hands in Seth’s thick, tangled, barely-dry ponytail of hair and pulls, roughly, making the noises spilling from Seth even louder.

They’ve barely disentangled when the elevator doors ping open, and Seth is dragging him down the hallway by the hand – no one seeing them wouldn’t know exactly what they’re about to do, and Dean is surprised not to see Roman waiting for them at the room door – but maybe he’s still in the shower, he thinks, or taking a bath, his back needs it sometimes. Maybe he’s just giving them some time alone before he can walk in on Seth already so far under for the two of them. Either way, Dean can’t wait a second after the door is closed to slam Seth back against it and kiss him breathless, using every bit of those extra fifty pounds he has on the leaner man to keep him pinned there, although Seth isn’t exactly trying to get away.

“Dean, fuck, please….” Seth coos so beautifully, and Dean has to move back and remind himself that this isn’t how he wants to do it.

“Strip,” he says, and his voice is hoarse, he’s been waiting, been so fucking patient, and now Roman is going to join them and everything is going to be like it should have been for the last year and a bit.

Seth’s eyes go half-lidded as he steps around Dean to head to the bed, toeing off his shoes and socks first to get them out of the way. His hoodie is next, zipper pulled down with an achingly slow motion Dean follows with his eyes, breath held. He follows Seth’s hands back up as they go to the tie in his hair and pull it free, shaking his curls loose, unable to stop himself laughing a little at how they poof up around his face.

When Seth’s hands go back to skirt around the hem of his black band t-shirt, Dean has to swallow, hard – there’s something completely different about seeing Seth’s shirt come off here than there is to seeing him shirtless in the ring. Out there, it’s business, it’s work, and in here Seth is getting naked just for him; it’s a whole different feeling, like the difference between catching a glimpse of the bra of his first school crush and the first time she took her shirt off for him. Intent makes a hell of a difference in Dean’s mind, and he’s almost breathless with anticipation as Seth’s shirt slides off, revealing all those golden muscles he works so hard on.

“First ever to win both those pretty, shiny little toys,” Dean rasps, and Seth meets his eyes, almost shy, such a change from the cocky man he plays in the ring. But then, Seth’s always gone down so easily for Dean, always folded up at the knees and knelt, taken his place at Dean’s feet when anyone could see he was supposed to be better than the man he knelt before. “I’m going to spoil you, baby, going to give you everything you need, don’t you worry.”

Seth makes a strangled noise, hands pausing at the button fly of his skinny jeans, looking to Dean for permission. Dean holds his gaze for a second, considering, before letting a smile curve at the edges of his mouth and nodding almost imperceptibly.

The way Seth rips at his own clothing shouldn’t sent a bolt of lust through Dean’s stomach, he thinks, shouldn’t nearly make him bend double with it, but to see Seth so desperate for him, fuck, to think how long it’s been since they were together…

“Who’s been opening you up, baby?” Dean asks, an edge of danger in his tone. Seth pauses with his jeans halfway down his legs, but looks away again, slipping them down and off his feet, leaving him in black boxer briefs as he stands up straight and looks Dean in the eye.

“Just Ro… sir,” he says, the last word a soft whisper, “No one else, not since… not since you.”

Dean shudders at that, a little annoyed Roman hasn’t shown up yet, but figuring it’s his loss. If he misses out on the show of Seth getting naked, then it’s only fair – he had Seth all to himself last time, and the belt marks Dean had seen looked like they were going to take weeks to heal.

“And did Ro give you what you needed, babe?” he asks, softly, picturing Seth decorated with marks from both of them this time. “Did he give it to you like I do?”

Seth’s face is frozen, stricken, and Dean almost expects to turn around and find Roman stood behind him, willing to make both of them beg and crawl for him. One day, he thinks. But tonight, Roman’s taking his sweet time about showing up, and Dean’s patience has hard limits – unlike Seth.

Finally, breath coming heavy, Seth shakes his head, just once, face red and hot, meeting Dean’s eyes for a fraction of a second before he looks back down at the floor. He’s hard, of course, and Dean thinks he can see a little wetness at the front of Seth’s underwear. Seth’s cock always juts forward, even soft, so when he’s hard and clothed, he’s practically obscene, pushing forward like an offering.

“No,” Seth says, almost unheard even in the quiet of the room, “He doesn’t know me like you do.”

Dean suddenly wishes, fervently, that he’d known Seth would want this, that he’d thought about Seth wanting to go down hard for him, because he didn’t bring anything with him other than lube and condoms, didn’t bring toys, didn’t pick up a gag, or nipple clamps, or the cock cage he’d bought three days before Seth had betrayed them. Seth needs something more than just a whipping, although right now, Dean would give his right arm for a flogger and some sturdy cuffs, because Seth needs to be taken apart. Thankfully, Dean’s always been good at improvising.

 

If he were a kinder man, Dean would probably be worried about how Seth is going to move during Raw tomorrow, but he’s too busy being impressed with picture in front of him. Seth’s naked, cock hard and dripping pre-come onto the cheap hotel carpet. Dean’s barefoot, only his jeans left on and bulging obscenely as he looks at Seth, on his hands and knees, arms already shaking with the effort of holding himself up. The carpet feels rough under the soles of Dean’s feet, so he can only imagine what it feels like on Seth’s hands and knees, how sore he’s going to be in the morning, and how he’ll be red raw by the time Dean lets him up.

“Seth Rollins, the man, the WWE world heavyweight champion,” Dean sing-songs in his best Lillian Garcia impression as he drapes the first title over Seth’s long, naked back, the straps hanging down either side. Seth trembles, but he doesn’t buckle yet, spreading his legs a little further apart to take the weight. The belt shifts, slides a little and nearly falls off, but Dean straightens it easily. “No, no, you mustn’t let something so prestigious hit the floor, must you?”

“No,” Seth gasps out, the strain of holding position showing in his tone.

“No,” Dean agrees, “The floor is where you belong, not these pretty pieces of gold they keep handing to you, isn’t that right, babe?”

“Yes,” Seth hisses out, impatience dripping from him as surely as his cock drips a wet spot onto the floor beneath him. “I belong on the floor, at your feet.”

“Good boy,” Dean croons, for a second wishing Roman was here, settled on the bed behind them, watching and stroking himself – fuck, that would be so sweet. He shakes it out of his head, it doesn’t do to get distracted. Roman will get there when he gets there, or won’t, but that doesn’t bear thinking about. “Now, let’s put this other belt on you, hm?”

Seth’s arms are visibly shaking as Dean lays the US championship over his shoulder blades, the sheer weight of the thing impressive. Sure, Seth lifts more on a daily basis, but he’s wrestled a long match tonight, and more than that, he’s so eager to come that he can’t keep himself from shifting his hips with desperation.

“Look at you, Seth, such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” Dean coos, watching Seth rock his hips incrementally, and laughing cruelly as he stills, feeling one of the titles start to slip. “Think you can keep those lovely belts you earned on your back while I work you open for me? Or maybe I should wear both while I fuck you, push them into your skin, leave the print of them burned red into your skin, hm?”

Seth’s almost beyond words, which is a gorgeous thing to see, mouth open and gaping, breath coming with a struggle, so far under that Dean could ask him to do anything and he’d agree, could string him up from the ceiling and watch him hang, could walk him through the hallways and give everyone a show, could tell him not to come while Dean jerked off on the bed, just watching him, then forbid him to come afterwards. Lucky for Seth, Dean’s a vicious bastard, but he’s not actually cruel.

“Yes,” he hisses out, between pants, and tries to supress the shudder running through him.

“Yeah,” Dean says, with an evil grin Seth can’t see, “I think you wanna get fucked, but you’ve got to do something for me first, baby.”

“Anything,” is what comes out of Seth’s mouth before he even thinks about it, and that’s when Dean knows he’s got Seth down further than he’s ever managed before. Fuck, but that sends a thrill down his spine.

“Good boy,” Dean praises, tone genuine, and watches Seth’s dick jerk with it, interrupting the line of fluid drooling from the head of his cock to the floor. Dean wants to get under him, wants to get his mouth on that dripping cock, swallow Seth down and hear him come, but there are more entertaining prospects. “I’m gonna finger you open, and you’re gonna keep those belts right there, how does that sound? You think you can do that for me?”

“Anything, Dean, anything,” Seth gasps out, hips moving without his control, and he makes a strangled whine as he holds them still, thighs trembling with the effort.

Dean doesn’t waste any more time trying to get words out of Seth, as beautiful as he is when he’s needy like this, just steps away to dig the lube out of his bag, dropping some condoms on the bed for later before he crouches down behind Seth’s spread legs.

“Oh, aren’t you a sight?” he says, not expecting a response as he watches Seth’s hole flutter as he breathes, clenching down, clearly wanting to be filled, but not asking for it, not yet. He slicks his fingers hurriedly, not bothering to warm them, watching Seth jump and twitch under his hand at the first touch of chilly fingers to his cleft. He doesn’t press in straight away, just sliding his fingers up and down, leaving Seth messier than necessary, but hey, you can never have too much lube, right?

Ignoring the plastic scent of the lube, Dean leans forward, holding his breath so the heat of him can’t give his plan away, and swipes his tongue right over Seth’s hole. He feels Seth’s whole body move, hears the strangled groan, and pulls back. The US title is going to slip first, by the look of it, Seth struggling to keep his upper body steady, and Dean wonders what the punishment he’s going to hand out will be before he dives back in, lapping Seth’s hole open with quick, clever strokes, catching deliberately on his rim in a way that always made Seth sob. This time is no expectation, the choked noises coming fast and furious, Seth’s shoulders shaking with the effort of staying upright and not just shoving back onto Dean’s tongue.

“No coming until I’m fucking you,” Dean warns, gently, pulling back and grimacing at the taste in his mouth. “If you do, I’m leaving.”

“No, no, you can’t, please, Dean, I won’t – “ Seth chokes back words and tries to settle his position without upsetting the belts, spreading his knees even further apart, and Dean silently thanks any god who might be listening for Seth’s crossfit obsession. He’s so much more flexible than he has any right to be, and it’s helped out time after time when Dean’s wanted something particularly perverse from him.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Dean murmurs, pushing a finger into Seth to hear the mewl he makes, before pulling back out too fast, “I’ve got a good boy, haven’t I? A good boy who does what he’s told.”

Seth seems too far gone for words, just nodding rapidly until he realises the US title is slipping, and straightens himself up. The heavyweight title seems to balance better on him, and Dean idly wonders if it’s weighted more evenly before he pushes his finger back into Seth. It’s coddling, really, because if Seth still uses the toys he had when Dean was fucking him regularly, then he could start with two fingers easily, but where’s the use in giving up a good tease?

By the time he works up to a second finger, the lube around Seth’s hole is drying tacky to the touch, and Dean slaps more on, Seth’s sharp gasp at the cold making his grin wide and feral. There’s no sound in the room but Seth’s panting, the slick noises of Dean’s fingers, and the whir of the air conditioner, but Dean’s happy to change that.

“So beautiful,” he praises, and listens to the hitch in Seth’s breathing before he whines again, a broken little noise that sounds like his muscles are almost giving up. “Just a little longer, baby, got to get you up to three... what do you think, three or four before I fuck you hard?”

Seth doesn’t get to give a number, because his arms give up and he’s collapsing to his elbows, the US title slipping perilously forwards to rest against the back of his head, but it's the heavyweight title that lists violently to one side, and slides onto the carpet with a thud.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, I need it, I need you – “ Dean cuts Seth off by pushing two clean fingers between his lips, and Seth’s apologies subside into sucking.

“You tried as hard as you could, baby, I know that,” Dean says, unbuttoning his jeans with his lube-slick hand and silently cursing whoever invented the button-fly, “So I’m gonna make sure you get your reward anyway.”

 

They move to the bed, Dean helping Seth up off the grubby floor, and he was right, his knees and hands are red raw in a way that stings now, but will hurt more tomorrow, he’s almost certain. Dean lies in the centre of the bed, having finally got naked, and slicks himself up, Seth lying next to him and watching, eyes dark and pupils swollen with lust. The titles are left abandoned on the carpet, and Dean doesn’t think either of them could give less of a shit about that right now, so wrapped up in each other that it’s as if no one outside of the room exists.

Seth shakes his head at the condom, defiant, and Dean shouldn’t give him what he wants, but hell, that’s what tonight has all been about. In the end, any situation involving Seth will be about what he wants, and besides, Seth feels so good when he straddles him and glides down, inch by inch, taking Dean in so easily and gracefully that no one would ever believe it’s been over a year since they were together.

Being inside Seth feels like coming home, and if Dean grips his hips a little too tightly, holding him still and just revelling in it, Seth is smart enough not to say anything. Or maybe he can’t, too far gone on his own lust and want to do more than breathe and whine for Dean to move.

“Patience, baby,” Dean says, with a grin, but there’s a strangled moan at the end of the sentence as Seth clenches around him, squeezing tight like a vice before letting up again. “Alright, point taken.”

He starts to rock gently, but Seth seems to have had enough of being good and biddable, so raises himself up and slams back down, driving a howl out of Dean that he didn’t know he could make. After that, he can’t keep letting Seth dictate the pace, so rolls them over and pushes back in, hard, hearing Seth cry out. There’s a bang on the wall from the room next door, and Dean couldn’t give a shit, just wants to keep wringing these noises out of Seth, hearing him cry and pant and scream for Dean like he’s got no control over the sounds he makes.

Seth comes too soon, a choked off cry and splattering his own chest, Dean’s body meeting it and smearing the mess between them, but Dean’s not about to stop just because Seth is over-sensitive. He keeps the pace punishing, vicious, Seth’s nails in his back and likely drawing blood, making marks he’ll catch hell for if any of them can be seen when he gets ino the ring. They feel so good that he can’t argue, though, feel like Seth’s walking fire down his spine.

Dean’s orgasm hits like a freight train, all at once, and he’s doubled over, trying to find Seth’s mouth to kiss him, trying to say something, trying to find something in between ‘I love you’ and ‘fuck, when can we go again’ as he spills into Seth’s eager body with a cry he refuses to admit was closer to a wail.

“Love you, love you, love you,” Seth pants, when Dean’s thrusts stutter to a stop, and he collapses, half on top of Seth, still buried inside him. “Missed you, needed you.”

“Love you,” Dean manages to respond, before he kisses Seth softly and slides out, both of them finding their eyelids are drooping, “My clever fucking double champ.” He runs his fingers through Seth’s damp, snarled hair, and laughs at the face Seth makes when he catches a tangle between them, and tugs.

“Yours.” Seth agrees, conversationally, as if it doesn’t send shockwaves through Dean, as if it doesn’t make his heart sing. It feels good, feels great, but he can’t help but feel that there’s something missing, something he’d be able to put a name to if he wasn’t so fucked out and exhausted. He resolves to put it to the back of his mind, pulling Seth closer and kissing his hair. He’ll think about it in the morning.

 

When Dean wakes up, curled against Seth, both of them sore and well-used, he leans out of the bed and pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans where the lie crumpled on the floor. He’s suddenly furious Roman hadn’t shown up, hadn’t even responded to say he wouldn’t, and flicks angrily out of the lock screen on the two of them, the same picture he sent to Seth about them being okay. Clearly, they aren’t.

“Don’t leave,” Seth pleads muzzily, from the other side of the bed, and Dean pulls him in close instead of answering, kissing the top of his head, and then goes cold all over as his slow ass cell phone finally opens.

[Message Unable to be Delivered]  
[Message Unable to be Delivered]  
[Message Unable to be Delivered]

“Fuck,” he says, quietly, and shows Seth his screen when the other makes a questioning noise. He can feel Seth wake up against him, and the noise he makes sound suspiciously like a sob. Dean’s phone beeps in its usual obnoxious fashion in his hand, and he flicks open the message from Roman, holding his breath, praying Ro won’t have overreacted.

_You made your point._

With that, all the peace they’d found last night leaves Dean, and he feels Seth tense beside him too, the two of them an isolated ocean of hurt in what should have been the happiest morning of their lives. Seth climbs out of bed and picks both titles up from the floor, stuffing them into his bag like they don’t mean anything. Dean supposes they don’t, now. After all, what are titles in comparison to the two most important people in your life?


	13. carry me home on your shoulders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to and title from 'Mexico' by The Staves.

Roman lies in the bathtub and thinks idly about what the night might have in store for him, about how good those nights were, back in May, when they were together in every way, bodies, souls, hearts. His dick’s stirring, but he doesn’t touch himself, sure he’s going to need all his stamina later to keep up with his boys, fuck, his boys, it’s going to feel so good to call them that again, to dig his hands into Seth’s hair, to kiss Dean, to watch them together and know he’s a part of that.

He sinks back into the hot water, groaning as it helps to soften out the mess of his back after a hard night, arching a little to hear the joints crack and click. He’s tired, bone tired, but there’s a frisson of desire and excitement that says a nap is out of the question, and he doesn’t want to miss any messages. After getting himself this keyed up, not getting to be with them now would be unbearable, he thinks.

He spends no small amount of time on his hair, making sure it’s no longer sweat-wet or tangled, working the conditioner through the ends and combing out the snarls, taking care of himself in the best way he knows how other than taking his boys to bed. Patience, he reminds himself, rubbing his hair dry with a towel before brushing it back out again. Those times he shared with Dean and Seth, he remembers how much both of them liked to dig their fingers into his thick hair and twist, pull, stroke and pet. He just wants to make them happy with him, wants them to be pleased with him, wants to deserve them. The idea of Dean not calling him into the room tonight doesn’t bear thinking about, and so Roman sucks in a breath and decides to head down to the hotel bar, have a beer, avoid thinking too heavily about what he hopes will happen.

After pulling on a shirt and jeans, trying to look halfway-decent even though he hopes these clothes will be crumpled on the floor of Seth’s hotel room soon, he makes his way into the bar and nurses a pint, checking twitter and dicking about on the internet for a little while, just for something to do. When Triple H slides into the seat next to him, his back goes stiff with tension, and he slips his phone into his pocket trying to radiate an aura of ‘fuck off’. It doesn’t work, and Hunter smiles at him, a nasty, short little smile.

“Roman, Roman, Roman,” he begins, and Roman resists the urge to roll his eyes at the man for being a walking cliché of the evil villain. “You didn’t think we were going to let you get away with any of this, did you? You’ve got to show me some respect, or we’ll make it so you’ve got no choice but to get on your knees and beg.”

Roman’s struck with a whole series of images around that, things he doesn’t want to think about, knowing Seth must have gone down to Triple H before, doesn’t want to think about their Seth, his Seth, on his knees for the man beside him. He swallows back the facial expression he wants to make, and pulls on the same laconic smile he uses in the ring, the one that says he doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks of him, and that nothing in the world could shake him.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen, Hunter,” he says, voice low and dangerous as it can be with that stupid smile still there, knows that’s going to piss off the boss, “You see, I don’t beg anyone. Things I want just come to me.”

There’s a pause, and Hunter’s face pulls into his ring smile, too, all sharp teeth and whitening treatments, a thousand crushed careers and broken talents caught in those gleaming jaws.

“You think he’ll come to you?” Hunter asks, and there’s so much amusement in that tone that Roman wants to punch him, right here in the bar, where the rules of the ring don’t apply and you absolutely will get fired for hitting your boss. “Oh, Roman, I knew you were naïve, but I didn’t realise you were stupid.”

Roman drops his smile.

“You don’t know the first thing about Seth,” he growls, and watches that smug grin become wider. Shit. He’s just put his fucking heart on his sleeve, exactly the wrong move when dealing with Hunter, but… fuck it, it’s not like everyone didn’t think the three of them were screwing back when they were part of the Shield, he wasn’t confirming anything that everyone hadn’t already thought about. “You can’t give him what he needs, doesn’t matter what he calls you or how easy he used to go down for you. He’s ours. He’s always been ours.”

Hunter quirks an eyebrow at him, and turns to take a sip of his beer, expensive watch catching the light and reminding Roman of the time. His phone hasn’t buzzed. Did Dean really mean it when he said he was welcome? Hunter must catch the look on his face, because his expression immediately drops into false pity.

“I think you know who he really belongs to, Roman. Don’t fool yourself into thinking they’ll make space for you, kid. You’ll just be disappointed.”

Roman growls, low in his throat, knows what he must look like now, anger etched onto his face, and pushes his chair back.

“I know where I’m wanted,” he says, barely more than a rumble of rage. “Do you?” With that, he sweeps out of the bar as fast as he can without looking like he’s running away. He can hear Hunter’s laughter behind him, but he refuses to look back.

 

When he checks his phone after leaving the bar, Triple H’s words ringing in his ears, there aren’t any messages, and Roman’s heart sinks all the way to his feet. He knows the show is long over, knows it’s been too long, knows the two of them must be tangled up in bed together by now. His best friend and his best friend’s ex-boyfriend, or whatever they are now, his old lover, his brothers, the people who knew him best and were the closest he let anyone in. He wonders how he disappointed them without even speaking to them, not even saying a word, whether Dean had already decided to leave him out of it when he left the arena, if that was his first mistake. He shakes his head angrily as he climbs into the elevator, but the thoughts won’t stop coming, won’t stop spiralling in, and he clenches his fist not to punch the mirrored wall. He can’t look himself in the eye.

The hallway back to his room feels sterile, cold and empty, and he can’t help but think that’s probably a metaphor for something. Dean fucking loves those, little analogies for everything, sees the whole world as one related line he travels. Seth, on the other hand, sees himself as the world, and wraps the fabric of the universe around him. Roman, though – he talks a good game, he plays up his own good looks and pretends he doesn’t hear what they say about him in the locker room, but in his heart, he knows he isn’t a wrestler. He isn’t a talent in the ring like Seth, he’s not a master on the mic like Dean, and as a human being? He’s nothing. He has nothing to bring to the table, nothing to give them that they can’t find just as easily in each other, and he’s not going to fool himself that they don’t know that too. They probably didn’t even want him.

Getting his room door open takes three attempts, his hands shaking and he can feel his face drawing up in a snarl because the alternative is something he refuses to think about. Closing the door behind him feels like a steel chair to the back all over again, feels like watching Seth walk away from them, laughing, but this time Dean isn’t by his side, will probably never be by his side again after this. Seth’s got two titles, and Roman’s only ever held the tag titles, and even those he had to share with Seth, Seth, it’s always Seth, and Roman finds himself on the floor, scratchy carpet under his palms as he digs his nails into it, clawing hard enough to hurt. He’s breathless with anger, hurt, with embarrassment that he ever thought he could be good enough for either of them, let alone both at the same time, as if he’s ever meant anything to anyone. He isn’t sure when he started howling, when his voice became raised in grief, when the tears started falling without his permission, but once he realises it, he shuts his mouth, and lets the soreness of his throat give him the strength to stand up.

He starts the shower, stripping off angrily, throwing his clothes back into the bedroom, thoughts of what he wanted to be naked for earlier rushing through his head and threatening to send him back to his knees, so he bites down hard into the meat of his hand, lets the sting of the pain keep him grounded. He’s been out of the bath barely two hours, but the shower is hot, scalding, a burning reminder of how little he’s worth and what little he’s good for, and when he pulls his hand from his mouth, there’s a red-purple imprint of teeth, and he shakes it to take the sting out of it, lips pressed in a thin line as he lets the water pour down on him and tries to pretend he doesn’t feel betrayed.

When he gets out of the shower, the water finally running cold, Roman’s thought enough that the deep, yawning pit of grief he tries to ignore in himself has been boarded up, covered over with anger, rage, disbelief that they would do this to him, fury that he ever believed there was anything to love in either of them. What are they, really? Just a crazy fuck up who can’t sit still and a two-faced piece of shit, neither of them have ever deserved the time he gave them, the energy and effort he put in, the way he loves them so much it’s like all the air has left the room and makes him lightheaded.

The bed feels too big, too empty, and sleeping without Dean’s snoring, or muttering, or the sound of him pottering around the room makes it feel even more lonely. He remembers learning to sleep without Seth, the both of them lying awake and waiting for the click of the keycard in the door, the sound of their third, their little brother, Dean’s lover, coming home to them, and how, eventually, they both got used to that sound not happening, and the silence broken only by their breathing. It still sits in Roman’s chest, like everyone who leaves him, like all the high school girlfriends who laughed and said he was sweet but not what they wanted, like his first boyfriend who was so afraid of the rest of the football team finding out that he punched Roman in the face rather than admit to being with him. Sometimes he thinks he kept the vest as part of his ring gear because, otherwise, everyone will be able to see that his heart is just a mass of scar tissue, and that he gives it away so easily, so foolishly that without the armour holding it back, he might just let it spill out right there, in the middle of the ring, might stop spouting stupid lines and instead drag the crowd with him through every scar, every mark, every little wound that never seems to heal.

He can’t stop himself from thinking though, even now, even when he knows it’s the worst thing he could do, even though he knows he’s just hurting himself at this point. Roman’s spent his life being told that he can be anything he wants, just so long as he’s exactly what everyone expects. He wonders, now, if he could have fought harder, for those girls in school, for the boys in college, for Seth, for Dean, for his boys, his boys, and if he has to suck in a sharp breath at the thought of them laughing, without him, then there’s no one there to tell. He drags his phone off the bedside table and taps out a message to Dean, short and simple, nothing more to say.

_You made your point._

It makes him want to howl again, that Dean would do this to him, that the person he poured all his insecurities out to is using them against him, but then, what did he really expect? He’s never managed to make anyone stay, and he supposes that makes sense, because what is there to stay for? What part of him makes it worth putting up with the rest of him, with the silence and the awkwardness, and the lack of skill at anything he does, no matter how many hours he puts in, he’ll never match the guys with the natural ability for what they do. No matter what he does, he’s never been good enough for anyone, and he’s almost surprised it still stings. With a heavy sigh, Roman rolls onto his side, curls his arms around a pillow, and tries his best to sleep.

 

Hearing a knock on his door in the morning is a sharp shock out of sleep, and he’s halfway to the door before he realises he’s naked, and that there’s no call for anyone to be knocking on his door at all. He slows his pace, trying to think about why he feels so wrecked – and then he remembers. Dean. Seth. Hunter in the fucking bar, smiling like a used car salesman. He pulls on some sweats, and warily goes to open the door, ready for another pep talk from Hunter. He doesn’t expect to come face to face with Dean, Seth hovering behind him, looking nervously over his shoulder in case anyone sees them together, but his reaction is swift, slamming the door shut again – right onto Dean’s foot.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean says, pushing the door open and ushering Seth inside, closing it behind himself. “I’m not playing that game anymore.”

Roman backs himself onto the bed, and refuses to curl up, refuses to show them how this makes him feel, that they’d burst into his room – the room he was supposed to share with Dean – just to tell him how much they don’t want him, how they’re happy together, how there’s nothing he could offer that they would even begin to want. It hurts to think that he wouldn’t get the message just from the night they shared without him, that they think he wouldn’t leave them the fuck alone after being locked out so clearly.

“Ro, come on, look at us,” Seth pleads, and fuck, but Roman’s always been weak to Seth’s voice like that, begging for something only he can give – but was any of that ever real? “Please, look at us.”

Roman lifts his head and looks, and it’s like a physical blow to see the way Seth’s moving, standing, how at ease he looks, the way he only ever looks when he’s been properly dommed, when he’s been taken apart piece by piece and put back together better and stronger and calmer. Dean, too, is still, not vibrating with nervous energy, just curling his hand into Seth’s, and perhaps that’s what hurts the most, the reminder that they’ve always been close, always known each other, and that he’s been nothing but an interloper the whole time. Has he ever been welcome, did they even want to invite him that May, was he anything more than a quick taste of something more interesting to spice up their sex life, before they went back to the person they really loved?

Dean’s talking, but Roman can’t hear a word of it, head swimming, biting the inside of his cheek because otherwise there are tears threatening to pour out, and he doesn’t cry, won’t cry over this. They’re trying to let him down gently, face to face like they give a shit about him, but Roman isn’t sure he can do this, isn’t sure that staying friends is something he can bear. It was hard enough sharing a room with two people so in love when he thought there was no place for him between them, but now he’s been there, now he knows what they both look like when they come, how Seth nuzzles up into touch like a cat seeking affection, how Dean only lies still when he’s wrapped up in strong arms… to be privy to more moments between the two of them now would feel like dying.

He startles when Seth puts a hand to the side of his face and bends close like he’s going for a kiss, can’t face that, can’t take a kiss in pity when it should be in passion, and so pushes the smaller man away, making him stumble back into Dean.

“Ro?” Dean asks, tone curiously flat, like he’s trying not to let any emotion colour his words, but that doesn’t make sense, can’t make sense, because what emotion would he be choking back? “You… didn’t hear a word of that, did you?”

With those words, the amusement floods into Dean’s tone, and that’s the last straw, the final moment that Roman can’t bear, the idea that they’re laughing at him, that his love is something to be mocked, something they’ll talk about in ten years in bed together, and chuckle at, like a footnote in the story of their lives.

“Just go,” he says, wearily, and hears his voice crack, hates himself for that weakness. “You don’t need to explain anything. It’s always been you two.”

He sees Seth roll his eyes, and that almost quirks a smile out of him, precious, petulant Seth always wanting to get the last word in, and fuck, he’s going to miss them like losing a limb; it was bad enough without Seth, but losing Dean too is going to be the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“It’s always been the three of us,” Dean says, and smiles, but Roman doesn’t understand, can’t understand, because it hasn’t been the three of them for more than a year now. “You big idiot, we’re not leaving you. Fucking signal here is shit, apparently.”

He throws his phone at Roman, who catches it on instinct, and then looks down at the screen.

**top floor, 571**

**c’mon hurry up we need you**

**fuck he’s so eager he wants you so bad**

**i want you so bad**

**get here soon we love you**

Each message is shown as Dean sending it that night, the time stamps standing out; they’re not new, they’re not something Dean’s trying to cover up, and each message has ‘undelivered’ sat next to it like damning evidence. He swallows, hard, before scrolling down a little further – and there’s his own message, sat there like a brand against the messages of love and want.

“Didn’t stop you,” he points out, though part of him knows he’s just being a dick at this point. “No one stopped the party to call me, or see where I was.”

Dean just looks at him with one eyebrow raised, and Roman catches himself grinning. Yeah, he’s not sure he could stop a needy Seth when it came to it, or think of anything else when he had a lapful of squirming golden boy.

“My fault,” Seth says, unnecessarily. “You know what I get like.”

“Not so much,” Roman replies, and the smile he can feel stretching across his face is warm, welcome and echoed in Dean’s eyes. “But I’d like to find out.”

This time, when Seth goes to kiss him, Roman lets him. It feels like being hoisted on the shoulders of his brothers as he waves a title to the world, feels like winning against all the odds, feels like the roar of the crowd in his ears drowning out his own panting breath. It feels like coming home.


	14. let you ruin my day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read end notes for warnings. Title from 'Bitter and Sick' by One Two

Everything’s a blur when they get into motion, Dean tearing at his own clothes like he’s been waiting a hundred years for it, and Roman’s hands on Seth’s body like he can drink him in with his palms alone, as if seeing isn’t believing, but touching it. Seth shivers with it, the feel of reverence from Roman’s hands, like he hadn’t left marks not that long ago, like it had been two years apart again. Seth settles over his knees so easily, and it’s not long before he feels Dean’s hands at his waist, stripping his shirt off, pulling him apart from Roman for a moment to get it over his head.

“Too dressed,” Dean mutters into the column of his throat, biting gently, like he wants to leave a mark but doesn’t know how much Seth will allow. “C’mon, Ro, let our boy up.”

Seth drags himself away from Roman’s lap and steps away, watching as Dean, naked, settles into the same position he’d been in, kneeling across Roman’s thick thighs and leaning in to kiss him. It’s easy, like this, to forget that Dean and Roman haven’t been talking, have been holding themselves apart, and that it’s all be because of him. To see them kiss softly, carefully, Roman’s big hand cradling Dean’s chin like he’s something delicate – it makes Seth’s mouth dry, and if he nearly falls when he’s taking his jeans off, he hopes no one notices. Dean’s snigger suggests that he did, but Seth just gives him the finger idly as he tugs them off his ankles. Not like Dean hasn’t fallen over himself enough times on their way to bed, or out of it. Seth decides not to care about it, and concentrates on getting his boxer briefs off without tripping over those as well, which is a struggle when all the blood that should be in his brain seems to have fled elsewhere.

Naked, Seth comes back to the bed, shoving Dean over and settling himself on Roman’s right thigh, Dean straddling the left, so the two of them can maul him properly. Roman’s hands falter for a second, like he worries he’s not allowed to touch, and Seth’s heart aches at that.

“Don’t you ever, ever think we don’t want you,” Dean growls, and Seth feels that sentiment right down to his bones, the empty feeling in his gut that only having both his boys with him can fill, the way Roman’s arm sneaks around his waist and just holds him close for a second, their bare chests touching, and it feels like being treasured, home, warm and safe. Roman responds by pulling them both closer to him, and it feels weird having Roman in sweatpants when both of them are naked, but Seth honestly can’t cope with the idea of standing up and letting Roman get undressed when he can bury his head in Roman’s neck and breathe him in.

“I think that’s something we all need to learn,” Roman replies with a glibness none of them are feeling, before he kisses Dean softly, reverently, until Dean bites at his lip and the kiss turns fierce. Seth’s content to watch for a moment, watch his boys be glorious and hot together, but it’s not long before he’s sliding his hand over the bulge at Roman’s crotch, palming him through his sweatpants and hearing a bitten-off curse as Roman pulls away from Dean.

“Fuck, Seth, you feeling that neglected?” Dean asks, with a wicked glint in his eye as he puts his hand over Seth’s and starts stroking, gently. Roman’s head drops backwards, eyes fluttering closed, and then Seth’s being rolled gently off his perch on the bigger man’s thigh, Roman peeling both of them off him and onto the bed so he can stand and slide his sweats down.

“God,” Seth hears, and realises with a glow of embarrassment that he said it, that he’s so enthralled by Roman’s body being revealed to him that he spoke without thinking. “I mean – fuck, sorry.”

Roman laughs, but it’s not a harsh sound; it’s soft and careful, and sounds like love, somehow. Seth hides his head in his hands, peeking through his fingers, and watches Roman approach, trying to keep himself from staring at the cock he’s been so hungry for, that he remembers fucking him hard after belt-bruises were branded into him. Roman can make him go down in the best of ways, and so when he feels Roman’s big hand pulling his away from his face, the first thing he does is slide off the bed and drop to his knees.

“Slut,” Dean comments fondly from the bed behind him, but Seth is too taken with Roman’s body to care. “Go on, then, you warm him up for us with that pretty mouth. Ready for that, Ro?”

Seth hears Roman’s rumble of agreement distantly, like it’s coming from far away, and flicks his tongue over his lips as Roman takes a step closer, bumping his hard dick up against Seth’s face. He nuzzles it lovingly, jerking away slightly as a hand strokes down his back from behind before he realises it’s Dean, and settles back to rubbing the skin of his cheek over the velvety head of Roman’s cock.

“Isn’t he sweet for us?” Roman mutters, his hips bucking a little as Seth flicks his tongue out and catches the tip of his cock just barely. “Such a sweet boy we’ve got, god, you trained him so well, Dean, taught him just how to be everything I want.”

Seth feels a hand stroke over his hair, probably Dean, but he’s too focused on Roman’s dick to worry about whose hands are touching him, as he nuzzles it again and feels the streak of sticky wetness on his cheek as Roman leaks pre-come onto his skin. Finally, he opens his mouth and lets the head of Roman’s cock slip between his lips.

“I can’t take all the credit,” Dean says, and that’s absolutely his hand stroking Seth’s hair, just the right pressure to make him feel it, but not enough to pull him away from Roman’s dick. Seth sucks a little more of Roman into his mouth, rubbing his tongue against the underside with giddy enjoyment. “He came to me pretty slutty, all I did was show him what I liked. And maybe we talked a lot about what you probably liked and wanted, and how he’d have to be good for you. How you wouldn’t want a boy who couldn’t please you like this.”

Seth remembers those talks, late at night, sometimes with Roman asleep in the other bed, how Dean would pin him down and slowly prep him, finger after finger, taking his time, and how Seth would have to be quiet when all he wanted to do was tell his lover to get on with it and fuck him. All the time, Dean would purr little bits of filth at him, how Roman would fuck him, how Roman would look on top of him, how Roman would ruin him, and Seth would turn his head to look at the sleeping figure in the other bed in the room, and feel Dean push into him, and have to bite his own arm to keep from crying out in dizzying lust. He inches his way down Roman’s shaft, painfully slowly, just like all those nights that Dean slid into him, and feels Roman’s groan, rather than hearing it.

“I know,” Roman manages to get out, and then his hand is on the back of Seth’s neck, urging him forward, urging him to take Roman’s dick deeper into his throat. “I wasn’t always asleep.”

“I know,” Dean replies, and Seth has to pull back to take a breath, because that’s too much, that Dean knew Roman could hear them, that Roman knows all the little things Dean wants to see him do, that Seth desperately wants him to do. Roman hearing them talk about him while they fucked is unbearably hot, and Seth finds himself almost lightheaded with it, leaning back on his heels and taking a few slow, deep breaths. “Now, you want to prep him, or should I?”

Roman’s answer is to lift Seth off his knees easily and settle him carefully on the bed, rolling him over to lie on his front next to Dean, before handing Dean the lube and settling himself by Seth’s head.

“Hey beautiful,” he says, and Seth’s heart does a little flutter, like he can’t believe he gets to hear this, “I’m going to stay here and stroke your hair, you want to put your head on me?”

Seth eagerly shuffles up the bed to rest his head on Roman’s thigh, that delicious dick just slightly out of reach, and then Dean’s sure fingers are at his entrance, one sliding inside slowly and opening him up. Dean could prep him in his sleep, and often had, early-morning trysts while Roman was in the gym, or the shower, or snoring slightly across the room, Dean still groggy but able to unerringly know when Seth needed more, and faster. This, though, is nothing like that; this is Dean at his most deliberate, as Seth turns his head to suck a bruise into Roman’s thigh and listens to the way his breath stutters. To affect both of them like this, to have Dean stretching him open while Roman strokes his hair, to be wanted and needed – it’s beyond anything he ever thought he would be allowed, that he ever thought he could have. It feels like somewhere he wants to stay forever.

The bliss ends when Dean slowly slides his fingers out, and Seth’s a little foggy at this point, but he hears the whine he makes when Roman’s thigh is moved out from under his head, a big hand smoothing over his hair one last time before he feels their weight lift off the bed and he’s alone. Sound is a little weird for Seth when he’s overwhelmed, it always has been, but he thinks he hears Dean say something to Roman, and Roman murmur something back. The bathroom light clicks on, and it’s that which cuts through Seth’s submissive brain, waking him a little and making him aware of his surroundings.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he hears Dean say, voice low, and goes to respond, but Roman’s faster. It’s then that Seth realises the question wasn’t meant for him.

“Yes. Please, yes,” Roman rasps, and Seth feels his heart clench with that, with the feel of Roman’s fear of being told to leave again, with the sound of raw want in his voice.

“He won’t let you go again if we do this, you know that. I know you and me, we’ve got our… thing, but he’s not going to give you another out.” Dean’s tone is steady, but there’s a hunt of humour in that, too, like he knows this probably doesn’t need to be asked, but is determined to do so nevertheless.

“Would you?” Roman asks, and Seth lets a smile quirk across his face that he buries in a pillow, grabbing it from the headboard and settling it under his face in lieu of Roman’s body. “You’d let me leave?”

“Not in a million years.” Dean’s voice is soft, reverent, and Seth hears them kissing, gentle sounds of lips together, followed by a quiet yelp as Dean probably grabs Roman’s ass.

“I’m feeling really seduced over here,” he calls, lazily, and hears Roman chuckle, a dry sound and yet so warm and welcoming that Seth wants to wrap it around him like a blanket.

“I’ll seduce the shit out of you!” Dean shouts back, too loud, and then the bathroom light is clicking off again, and the two of them make the bed creak when they settle back onto it with him. A hand smooths down his back, stroking over his spine, and he arches into it, just a little, when it reaches his hips.

“Greedy,” Roman purrs, and Seth wriggles a little at that, sheer delight at being so wanted, at having his boys here with him again, at being allowed to have this and no longer feel like his heart is two-thirds broken. He’s got titles, shiny gold and the acclaim of everyone around him, but what’s he’s truly missed is the gaze of both of these men, looking at him like he’s the world again, and not like he’s just their sneaky, betraying little brother.

“You want to have him first?” Dean asks, trying and failing to keep the excitement out of his voice at the thought of sloppy seconds. Seth knows from experience that there’s nothing Dean likes better than pushing into him using come as lube, and while he’s only ever had it be one of Dean’s previous loads before, he’s pretty sure Roman would oblige. Well, if he can manage to make the words come, so overwhelmed and dizzy with lust.

“Want to feel you,” he hears himself moan, and then lifts his head a little, struggling to clarify. He knows what he must look like, hair a tangle over his face which is no doubt red, eyes wide, mouth gaping open as he draws breath. “Bare. Please?”

Roman looks at Dean like he’s asking for permission, and Seth turns his head too, waiting for what Dean’s going to say. Dean laughs and shakes his head.

“You’re his boyfriend too, Ro, you get to make your own choices on that. I’ve had him bare often enough, although not lately.”

Seth and Roman lock eyes, and Seth feels that little thrill through him again. Roman’s his boyfriend too – yeah, that sounds and feels all sorts of right.

“Are you sure?” Roman asks, voice low and deep, and Seth can’t help but mewl at that, mouth dropping open, head fogging over with lust.

“Yeah,” Dean says, fondly, smoothing his hand over Seth’s frizzing hair, “he’s pretty sure.”

Roman sliding in is like everything Seth’s ever dreamed of, and he knows he’s floating, knows he’s lost in his head, because he feels Roman come inside him, and it feels like only seconds later, feels like he’s been under his lover for a million years, and then Dean’s taking his place and pounding away at him, whispering all sorts of filthy little words that Seth feels rather than hears, so far gone for them that it feels like everything is a haze of sensation. He comes untouched, just before Dean does, and hears Roman groaning, feels the splash of come on his face as well as Dean coming inside him, feels his boys marking him up at both ends, making him theirs, owned, belonging.

When they’re done, the sheets are mussed and sticky, Seth can feel two loads oozing out of him as he lies face down on Roman’s thigh, Dean draped over his lower body, the three of them breathless and sweaty, air conditioning only able to do so much. Roman’s voice brings him back, fingers wrapped in the sheets carefully wiping come off his face.

“You’re so gorgeous, so incredible, we’re so lucky to have you,” Roman’s saying, and Seth would ordinarily blush, would shudder and want, but right now, satisfied and sated, safe and home with his men, his lovers, his boyfriends – he can’t muster the energy. He kisses Roman’s thigh, and shifts a little so he can stroke Dean’s hair, and falls asleep like that; filthy, well-fucked, and home.

 

Seth gets a little under a month with both titles, stalking out with one on each shoulder like he owns the whole world and his heart skips a hear every time. Two titles, like having both his boys, two titles, and it may be a hell of a lot more work, a lot more stress and effort, a lot more pressure – but it’s also a lot more payoff. The titles mean more media attention, more energy to present himself properly, and having both Dean and Roman back is his arms is the same; so much more attention. It feels good to settle into a chair for a press conference and hiss discreetly as the welts on his ass hit the hard surface. It feels good to wrestle with his head quiet and calm, to hold his focus beautifully with the taste of their come in his mouth, or the feel of it leaking out of him. Being the champ and being their good, slutty boy is something that seems to come so naturally to him, and all he can do is enjoy the ride; sore, tired, but unable to hide his self-satisfied smile.

Losing the US title isn’t much of a blow, all things considered. Cena’s unbearably smug about it, but Seth got to break his nose before, so he’s not too upset to give it back. He walks back into the Authority locker room to find Dean already sitting by his bag, cross-legged on one of the long benches, and grinning. Seth fees his mouth curve up into a smile before he realises it, the sight of Dean waiting and eager not something he thought he’d ever get to have again. Knowing Dean wants him is one thing – he never stopped, even when it ripped him to shreds every match they shared – but seeing him actively want to be in Seth’s presences? It sends a shiver all the way down Seth’s spine, a shudder of lust and want and feeling worthy.

“Brought you a present from Ro,” Dean says, patting Seth’s bag. “You’ll know what to do with it. Room 143, prep yourself first. We’ll see you at the hotel.”

It’s something they’ve started doing, reserving rooms ahead of schedule so everyone knows where they need to be and when, to prevent missteps like happened with Roman the first time. Seth watches Dean leave, not so much as a pat on his shoulder, and tries to stop himself from feeling like a whore at their beck and call. The sensation doesn’t bother him, but it bothers him that he’s not bothered, if he’s honest about it. He digs into his bag, looking for the present – if it’s from Roman, it’ll have something to do with obedience, not like a present from Dean, which would be all about humiliation. What he pulls out of the bag, however, if a little of both columns; a black leather collar with a shining silver o-ring on the front. He runs a finger around the inside and feels the softness off it, savouring it, something he’ll wear for a while, clearly designed to be comfortable over long periods of time. There’s a bottle of lube in the bag, too, as if Seth won’t have his own with him, or maybe just making sure.

Seth strips slowly, cock already fattening up at the thought of what will await him in that hotel room tonight. Heading into the showers, he allows himself a few slow strokes of his dick, knowing there won’t be anyone else in the Authority locker room to walk in on him, and that anyone who did wouldn’t dare to say anything. When he’s finally able to drag his hand off himself and dig through his shower bag, he spots something shining, nestled amongst his body wash and two types of conditioner. He fishes it out and nearly drops it when he realises what it is – a sleek silvery plug, just big enough to give Seth pause and realise why the extra lube. Dean wasn’t going to be the only one not getting a present, clearly, and Seth tries to ignore that his cock gets impossibly harder as he strokes a wet finger down the side of the plug. Dean always knew just how to best make him pant and moan, fuck, he was too hard already, just thinking about it.

His shower passes in a blur, his own hands in his hair, desperately trying to detangle it, too much stimulation, too much like the tugging sensation of Roman getting rough with him, or Dean dragging him down to his knees. He feels like every nerve is on fire, like he can’t pause for breath, and he knows, just knows, that he’s going to get fucked in the best way possible tonight, if he can drag his hand off his weeping cock long enough to make it last.

The locker room is cold when he pads out of the shower naked, his towel rubbing his hair dry, not caring that it’ll frizz. He stops dead when he sees Kane sat by his open bag, the leather collar in his hands. It’s corporate Kane, at least, so Seth feels a little bit safer, but he also feels like a fucking idiot for not locking the door when Dean left, and for leaving the collar on top of his bag.

“So, you’re more than just Hunter’s pretty lap dog, to sit at his feet and bark? I wonder if he taught you how to beg,” Kane’s voice is loud, echoing in the empty room, and there’s just enough bass to it that Seth remembers he’s still hard, although that’s rapidly fading, and he wraps his towel around his waist. He doesn’t answer Kane, just heads towards the older man and his bag, hyperaware of the plug he’s clutching in his hand, and the lube still sitting on top of his bag.

“Does Hunter watch you crawl and beg, little dog?” Kane asks, tone deliberately cheerful and mocking. “Is that the real prize, not some statue or a shiny bely, but being Hunter’s slut? Or does Steph fuck you too, little whore?”

Seth’s face must do something, because Kane laughs, flinging the collar across the locker room, where it hits the wall with an audible thud. Seth tries to resist the urge to check it, to run to the door and grab the collar, to yank open the door and cry for help.

“Fetch!” Kane bursts out with, laughing, and then surges forward, slapping Seth hard enough on the back that the plug nearly flies out of his hand. “I’m kidding, Seth! Bad luck with the US title, but hey, you’ve still got the one that matters, right?”

Seth nods, mutely. He realises he hasn’t said a word through the whole thing and that he’s trembling slightly, shaking. Kane makes his way to the door, kicking the collar away again, before he turns back to face Seth again.

“For now,” he growls, and it’s too close to the demon for Seth’s liking. The door closes with a thud of finality, and Seth slides down the wall he didn’t know he was leaning against. His breath is coming hard, like he just got done with a workout, and there’s a prickle of sweat over his body. He rubs angrily at his eyes, refusing to court the idea of moisture there, too.

 

When he pulls himself together, the first thing he does is go to the door and lock it, fingers trembling as they turn the catch. The second thing he does is lube up his fingers and give himself cursory prep, no arousal burning through him at all. The plug feels awkward and wrong as he pushed it in, too big, soreness rushing through him and letting him know that he didn’t stretch himself out well enough. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t feel sexy, doesn’t feel right, but he knows what’s expected of him, knows what he’s good at, good for, and so he goes through the motions. The plug sits heavily inside him as he bends to lift the collar from the floor. The shiny o-ring is scratched from hitting the wall, but worse, there’s a tear in the supple black leather, a line of imperfection. He rubs his thumb over it and then scrubs a hand over his eyes again. He’s not going to be upset about this – it’s not like the title was damaged. The title’s important, this is just some stupid kink thing that Dean and Roman want him to do, it’s not something that really matters. Nevertheless, he can’t help but feel that he’s letting them down, so he buckles the collar on before he dresses. He knows he should be at least half-hard with the plug and the collar, trappings of ownership and something he shares with his boys, bit he can’t help but feel shaken by Kane’s arrival, by the threat to his title, by the sense that he’s unsafe in his own private locker room. He tugs the hood up on his hoodie, pulling the drawstring tight, keeping the collar hidden.

He makes it to his rental car without anyone stopping him, head down and shoulders hunched up against prying eyes. Sliding into the driver’s seat, the plug hits and angle that jars him, and he makes a choked-off noise of pain. Sex is going hurt tonight, he knows; he’s sore in a bad way, not like the burn and stretch of having been used, and fucked again the next morning, but a sharp pain. He checks the time – he already later than he’d like, his hair’s frizzy mess, and when he meets his own eyes in the mirror, he flinches away from them, dark oceans in wide, startled whites. His lips are a thin line of tension; he looks afraid, and Seth doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do about that, just knows they’re off to the UK tour soon, and that he won’t be able to sneak away to Dean and Roman. He has to give them as much time as he can, and it’s hard, being the champ, to find the time. He can’t let them down tonight, can’t cancel so soon after they’ve set this up for him.

He’s worried, too, about Roman, that Roman will take it personally if Seth doesn’t want sex, just wants to be held, like wanting non-sexual contact makes it unromantic, like sex is special but everything else isn’t. Dean doesn’t seem worried that Roman will change his mind, but then, Dean’s always known how much they both want him, how they both love him. Dean’s always been Roman’s favourite, they all know that, and so Seth works extra hard to appeal to Roman, to make him feel wanted and welcome and like Seth would do anything for him. Worse, though, was remembering Dean’s face when he’d walked in on Seth with Roman, like he suddenly understood he place in the world, and that it didn’t involve either of them. Seth is certain that Dean, too, will take it personally if he doesn’t want sex, will think less of Seth for seeing them when he isn’t ready to take anything they want to give to him. Dean always pushes himself to the limit, and he expects the same of Seth. Seth tries once more to meet his own eyes in the mirror, and doesn’t succeed. He won’t he swears, he won’t let them down.

 

Seth drifts for most of the drive, knows he isn’t paying the road as much as attention as he should, but he’s sore, and tired, and more than once the prickle of tears stings at his eyes, and he has to bite his lip until the feeling goes away. He checks in at the desk as quickly as he can, and is isn’t until he spots one of the girls behind the desk giggling that he remembers he pulled his hood off during the drive, and realises that the collar is fully visible around his neck. He looks down at his feet, and takes his key in silence, pocketing it. Maybe he should drop his bag in at his room, he thinks, but he knows that if he makes it to his room, he won’t leave again, and he won’t, absolutely won’t disappoint them.

He knows they think it doesn’t bother him anymore, the way he turned his back on them and destroyed their brotherhood, the strongest relationship he’s ever had, all for a shiny title that weighs heavily in his bag and that he worried he won’t keep for long enough to make a mark. They think it doesn’t bother him, but he still has nightmares where he’s slamming the chair into them over and over again, where he doesn’t stop, and beats them both bloody, until neither of them gets up again. In all these dreams, Hunter’s voice urges him on, telling him what a good boy he is, how well he’s doing, and how no one can touch him in the ring – all the praise he’d showered upon Seth during the few post-match trysts they’d had, before Seth was left to his own devices once more. When he wakes up, he’s almost always sick, and the low-grade nausea stays with him for the rest of the day.

Too soon, the door to room 143 is in front of him, and he’s knocking before he can convince himself not to, plastering on a smile as the door opens.

“Hey gorgeous,” Dean grins, practically dragging him into the room, then stops, hand on Seth’s shoulder. “You okay, babe? Losing that title hasn’t put you off tonight’s fun that badly, has it?”

An out. Seth goes to open his mouth, to confess to the lover who knows him best that, contrary to the trappings of kink he’s draped in, he’s really not in the mood, and just wants to be held for a while.

“Fuck, I knew that would look perfect on you,” Roman’s voice rumbles, as he walks naked out of the bathroom, hair brushed dry and gleaming. Seth knows he’s in trouble when his body doesn’t react to that at all, when usually he can’t stop himself from stiffening at the very thought of Roman’s big, uncut cock, never mind the sight of it between thick, strong thighs.

“Yeah, our slutty pup looks so good in your present, doesn’t he?” Dean asks, sliding sweatpants off and rolling his shoulders at the way Roman looks at him. Seth tries, one last time, to make eye contact with Dean, who pauses. “ Seth, you feeling alright, baby?”

Roman steps close, cupping Seth’s chin, blue-grey eyes staring at him, as if they can see right into his soul, and Seth feels so grateful, so overwhelmed for a second, he knows Roman will understand –

“I know what’ll make our little whore feel better,” Roman purrs, and then he kisses Seth, hard.

 

The word hits him like a sledgehammer, and even as he kisses back he can feel his breath quicken – panic, not arousal -  as Dean’s hands start to undress him. He’s almost glad of it, sure his fingers would be shaking too much to do it himself. When Dean’s hand strip him of his jeans, he flinches away from the fingertips at his waistband, and stills, freezing, sure that this is it, sure it’s all over, sure that someone will notice.

“Ticklish,” Dean murmurs, and presses a kiss to his shoulder that Seth jerks from, like he’s been hit, like he’s selling in the ring, a huge movement. Everything feels so very far away, like he’s buried under cold water, shaking and numb, and he doesn’t know why Dean and Roman can’t tell as they lead him to the bed. They get him settled on all fours, and Seth can distantly hear Dean.

“…so beautiful, such a fucking slut, I knew you’d look good like this, our little whore, all plugged up and ready to use…”

“Aren’t you going to say thank you, Seth?” Roman’s voice breaks through the fog, and suddenly Seth can feel everything, can’t shut it out anymore, can feel Dean’s fingers tracing where he’s stretched around the plug, where it sings. Roman tugs on the collar for his attention, and that’s it. He lashes out, catching Roman across the face, and kicks back, making contact with Dean, and then he’s running across the room to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and fumbling for the lock – and there isn’t one. He can hear himself panting, body tense and terrified, and presses his back against the door.

Roman’s talking, he can hear the bass rumble of his voice over the pounding of his heart, but not the words. When someone tries the door, there’s a horrible shriek that doesn’t feel like it should have come from his throat, and the handle quickly stops moving. Seth slides down the door and crumples into a heap, pulling his knees up to his chest and shoving his face down into the them. The darkness is safe, comforting; though he can feel himself shaking, he feels a little more stable with his vision gone.

He's not sure how long he sits there before he realises that the choking pressure at his throat is the collar, what started all of this. Numb, clumsy fingers tug at the buckle at the base of his neck, catching strands of hair and pulling them out. He hears snatches of sound again as he throws the collar away from him and hears it clang against the opposite wall, and thinks about taking the plug out, too, before he puts his shaking arms back around his knees, and his face settles back against them, the blessed darkness returning.

“…caught my eye… horrible, fucking awful…”

That’s Roman, sounding angry and tired, like he’s already sick of Seth. Well, he knew it would happen, he thinks, he just didn’t think it would be this soon.

“…should have known… fucking idiot…”

That’s Dean, and it stings more than it should, maybe, Seth thinks, to hear him say that, to call Seth that. Dean’s been a constant in his life for so long, and for him to have ruined it now, after chair shots are forgotten about, just because he can’t handle it…. He crawls away from the door and settles himself in the middle of the floor – kneeling, legs spread, head down. The plug burns as he shifts, but his pain isn’t important now.

“Seth?” Dean calls softly through the door, and Seth flinches, then slaps himself in across the face for it. He has to do this, has to, or they’ll leave him, and he’s not losing them again just because he’s stupid, foolish, can’t give them what they want.

“It’s okay, baby – “ Roman cuts off what he’s about say, probably in disgust, and tries again. “Seth, it’s okay. Can we come in?”

Seth nods, before realising they can’t see him.

“Yes,” he says, voice creaking dangerously, and he has to swallow past the lump in his throat before he tries again. “Yes.”

Roman makes a noise that sounds like heartbreak when he sees him, and he’s beside him too fast, Seth scrambling backwards into the wall, sitting next to the collar he never wants to touch again, before he realises what he’s done.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can be good, let me be good,” he babbles, tripping over his own words. Dean kneels next to Roman, and they’re both far enough away that he can look at their knees, next to each other, the way their knees touch, like they’re meant to be together, and not feel the need to run. “I’ll be good, give me another chance, I’ll be good, don’t leave me – “

“Oh, Seth,” Roman says, and he can hear Dean make a broken-off noise that hits his heart like jagged glass. They both leave the bathroom, Dean closing the door behind him with a look on his face that might be pity, and he doesn’t know how long it takes him to tug the plug out of himself with shaking hands. His clothes are slid around the door by Roman’s big hand, and Seth hates himself for trembling until it closes. He gets dressed as quickly as he can, yanking clothes on and trying not to throw up. Neither of them stop him leaving, a clear path to the door, and Dean proffers his bag.

“Seth, we – “ he starts, but steps back as Seth’s trembling hand grabs at his bag. “We’ll talk to you tomorrow, when….”

“When you’re calmer,” Roman says, and Seth feels his mouth curl up into a smile at that, something bitter and dark and wrong, and he hears Dean whisper ‘oh fuck’ under his breath.

“Sure,” he says, and the words are alien, like they belong to someone else, like his mouth is being controlled by someone who doesn’t know him. Like he's back to being the Authority's golden boy, the smile he wore as he tore their brotherhood apart. “Because I’m the one who needs to take a step back.”

He doesn’t remember making it back to his own room, so he can’t be sure that the screaming doesn’t start before he gets the door shut.

 

It’s a long two weeks of flinching away, of no sex, of watching Dean’s face worry, of watching Roman step back when he comes near, keeping his distance. Two weeks of wishing he could go to them, wishing he could touch them, but knowing that they’re part of the problem. It hurts, that the people he wants most in the world to wrap him up and take him away from this pain, are part of the cause, and he avoids them as much as he can. Kane is challenging him all the time, and Steph and Hunter won’t take his calls, so he’s out there in no-man’s land, alone and lost and so, so frightened that he’s going to lose his lovers, lose his title, lose everything.

It’s the only explanation for why it happens. It’s the UK tour and a normal move, easy, shouldn’t bother him in the least, heading for a sunset flip powerbomb on Kane through a table, the older man hoisted high on the ropes – and he hears something pull and snap, like a tearing noise, and his right knee just gives way under him. He finishes the match, pins Kane, wins like he wanted, and then someone’s helping him almost hop to the back, the medics are circling, and all he can think is that Dean and Roman aren’t here, that they’re not coming, that no one’s coming.

“Done it again, Rollins,” he mutters to himself, and a medic gives him a questioning look. He shakes his head. Yeah. Once more, he’s managed to make damn sure that he’s out here on his own, that no one wants to be by his side, and once more, he’s going to be pissed off about a situation that he created, he’s going to be upset that something he did has hurt him, along with everyone else involved. “Same old fuck up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very reluctant sexual consent, although the coercion is not from any outside party: Seth feels pressured into sex, feels pressured to be a submissive when he's not in the right headspace for it, and neither Dean nor Roman realises that he's not into it. No actual sex happens, but there are some hurtful words tossed around. Seth believes he's a failure for not being constantly ready for sex. He also prepares himself for a toy improperly, hurting himself. Lack of communiction makes for terrible BDSM.


	15. nothing but my aching soul

It’s fair to say Dean’s been feeling a little neglected lately, what with Seth’s knee, and Roman’s number one contendership being blown out of the water due to that. Sure, the crowd still cheers for him, but it hurts not to have Rome at ringside when he’s got a match, hurts that he’s not there to hug him as he comes back victorious. Hurts to know that they’re setting up for a match between the two of them, and that Dean’s not sure if his best friend expects him to just lie down for him, or to give him a good fight. He’s not entirely sure what management wants from him, either, and that preys on his mind like a hyena gnawing at his leg that he can’t seem to shake off.

It’s going to come down to the two of them for the title, of course it is, because they’re the best the company has to offer, and they start on opposing sides of the brackets, because management likes nothing better than pitting friends against each other and watching them become enemies, turning lover against lover, brother against brother. They did it with Seth, made him walk away, and it fucked them all up so much that it took them months to pull Seth back into bed with them, months to trust him with their bodies and their hearts again. Then he’s wrapped up in them again, as deep as he can get, and they go and fuck up a scene, he goes and fucks his knee, and once more, it’s all about Seth. In one way or another, Dean thinks it’s always all been about Seth.

Dean knows he’s not much of a prize, looks at himself in the mirror and sees eyes too full of rage to be full of sympathy, sees his hair thinning, the way the new diet has him concave at the waist, rather than the ab definition that everyone else has. He knows what he is, he doesn’t lie to himself about that, and he knows what Roman and Seth are, too. Roman’s immortal, whether they hate him or love him, they all know his name, they all echo it, his legacy will last a hundred years and will always be spoken in these hallowed halls, a thundering chorus of boos or an explosion of cheers, either way. Seth is perfection, a sleek and precise combination of all their idols along with something that’s all his own, his story, his way, no imitation but close enough to all they love that no one can ever take their eyes off him. And Dean? Dean’s an ex-hardcore guy in a company with no room for blood as a gimmick, management who don’t understand that some people need pain to live as much as they need the fat cheques written, the money flowing in, the women waiting at the doors with easy smiles and easier access to everything he could have dreamed of having at nineteen.

He's not letting go of Roman, not even close, but it seems like there’s been a breakdown in every second of communication since they lost Seth, and Dean isn’t sure if he means that night when they fucked everything up, or when Seth’s knee buckled, and his title was returned to contention, the plates ripped off unceremoniously, Triple H already looking for someone new to shake his hand and take the steps to their poisoned reign. Well, he and Rome have seen what that does to a person, watch Seth’s self-assurance crumble, watched his belief in himself in the ring fade, when he’s never lacked that before. They’ve seen what Hunter’s helping hand does, and it is nothing more than a knife in the dark, cutting out the competition, but cutting away every sense of freedom that you’ve ever known. Dean’s let people hold his leash before, thinks he’d let Roman if he ever showed the inclination, but he’s not stupid enough to kneel down for Hunter to kick him in the ribs. He’ll stay a moving target, a constant shifting energy, and he’ll make it hard for the bastard to bring him down.

It should have been easy, they should have joked about it, should have had Dean’s voice teasing Seth as he waited with the medics:

“Well, Seth, since you’re dying, one of us has to take Kevin.”

“What, I’m not – “

“Shh, don’t waste your breath, just tell us what to feed him.”

“Dean, you – “

“Goodnight, sweet prince.”

“Fuck you, asshole, you’re not taking my dog.”

Instead, by the time Dean got to the fucking phone, Seth was already back at the hotel, into filming for Xavier’s stupid gaming channel, and then he was flying home, and Dean couldn’t get to him. Roman managed to get a few words in, apparently, but he tells Dean that most of them were incoherent, because Seth was trashing his hotel room and screaming, hopping around on one leg in a way that would have been amusing if it hadn’t been so deadly serious. Dean doesn’t know if he wishes he’d been in on that call, doesn’t know if he could have coped, doesn’t know if he might have said fuck everything and gone to him, stayed with him, been with Seth. He doesn’t know what he would have done if Seth had told him not to come.

 

Sharing a room with Roman is full of silent negotiations, like it never has been before, and when Dean comes back from the gym to find Roman in a call with Seth, his breath catches in his throat, shutting the door quietly behind him, and he hears Seth’s voice for the first time since everything.

“Is that Dean?”

“Yeah,” Roman murmurs, soft, like he doesn’t want Dean to hear. “You wanna – “

“No.” Seth says, and he doesn’t bother hushing his voice. Dean doesn’t wait to hear anything else, just grabs his shower bag and heads to the bathroom, locking the door behind him like he’s never had to do when he shares a room with either of them, and he wonders if they can ever go back to that now, if he can ever be their brother now, when they clearly don’t want him to be their lover. Roman doesn’t pound on the door, or if he does, the water drowns it out, or maybe that’s the sound of the blood rushing through Dean’s body, his clenched fists, his gritted teeth.

When he gets out of the shower, he stares at his face in the mirror, catalogues the lines on his forehead, the way his mouth twists, his hairline, the dark circles under his eyes. There is nothing in him to love, nothing in his face that he can see as being attractive or welcoming. His body is no better, scar after scar, year after year of agreeing to take punishment over and above what most people would consider normal, because eating was more important than not bleeding. Now, he wonders if there was any point to making himself a monster. No one wants the monster to stay, no one wants the monster to help – they just want the monster to leave them alone and never come back.

He pokes his head out of the door, and Roman makes a shushing gesture, without taking his eyes off his screen, where Seth is talking.

“…just don’t think I can do it anymore, he’s not helping, and I feel totally frustrated by everything!” Seth finishes, looking at Roman expectantly. “Know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Roman says, eyes flicking over to Dean. “Yeah, I get you, man. Look, I gotta go, we’ve got an early start, and – “

“And Dean’s back in the room,” Seth says. “Alright. I’ll talk to you soon. Night, Ro. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Roman says, softly, and there’s this fond look on his face that Dean barely recognises, it feels like it’s been a thousand years since Roman looked at him like that, even though it’s been no time at all. The call ends, and Roman turns his head to look at Dean. “Sorry, you know what he’s like when he gets to talking.”

“Sure,” Dean mutters, generously. “I know.”

He sheds his towel on the way to bed, dropping it on the floor in a way he knows Roman hates but almost never pulls him up on. There’s two beds in the room, two queens, and Dean looks at the one Roman’s on for a second, before pulling back the covers on the other bed and sliding onto too-cold sheets. He puts his back to Roman, deliberately, and curls into a ball, trying to keep himself warm.

“Alright,” Roman murmurs, almost too quiet to be heard, “if that’s how you want it.”

Dean doesn’t, but he also doesn’t say anything when Roman gets out of bed, picks up Dean’s towel and dumps it in the bathroom, then flips the light switch. Dean holds his breath as Roman stands between the two beds, hoping against hope that he’ll slip between the sheets with Dean, hold him, warm him up, tell him that Seth wasn’t complaining about him, even if that’s a lie. Instead, Roman’s sigh echoes in the room, and then there’s the rustle of blankets as he gets back into his own bed. Dean hasn’t slept alone since before Seth left them, it’s been over a year and it feels so alien not to have at least one warm body pressed up against him that he feels his chest go tight with it. Still, he reasons, better get used to it. It’s not like Roman will stick around long now that he’s driven Seth away for the second time.

 

For Dean, every day is more of the same. Management are playing up the two of them on different sides, and as much as Dean smiles for the cameras and tries to pretend like he and Roman are still the best of friends, it’s hard to meet Roman’s eyes anymore, hard to smile like he means it, hard to feel Roman’s hands on him in mock-friendship when he never touches him outside of work anymore. They share a room, but Dean feels like it’s more for convenience than anything else, more for the show of everyone else than what they do behind them. Roman makes his calls with Seth, and puts headphones in, so Dean can’t hear anything Seth says, just Roman’s side of the conversation, which is always cryptic enough that Dean can’t parse anything.

“Okay, babe, love you,” Roman says, finishing up what must have been a two-hour call. “Talk to you soon.”

Dean keeps his back to the other bed, pretending to read his copy of The Tell-Tale Heart, but his attention isn’t on the terrible thudding beneath the floorboards, just the one of the lying heart behind his ribcage that still longs for two people who clearly couldn’t give a shit about what he’s feeling.

“Okay, what?” Roman asks, and Dean startles upright, about to crack a joke about getting Roman a collar with a bell on it, before he remembers. Collars aren’t exactly the best thing to talk about right now, what with his collar play being what drove Seth away.

“Huh?” he says, trying for nonchalant as his traitorous heart beats and beats and beats against his chest like it’s fighting to get free.

“That little face you make whenever I call Seth, whenever I tell him I love him. What the fuck is that, man, because I’m getting pretty sick of it.” Roman’s tone is dark and foreboding, a cousin of his ring voice where every word belittles his opponent.

Dean’s face twists into the expression, he knows it. He fights it, smoothing it back out into polite disinterest.

“I figured,” he says, instead of anything else. “You wanna stop sharing a room, then?”

The silence from Roman is too much, sucking all the sound out of the room with how deep it is, and Dean can’t help himself, he turns his head and looks at – whatever Roman is to him, he doesn’t fucking know how to put a name to it anymore.

“Why the fuck would I want to do that?” Roman says, incredulously, like Dean’s just expressed how he wants to leap off the balcony of their fifth floor room. “Is this... fuck, Dean, is this about the damn title? Because you can have it, if this is how you’re going to be. I’d rather have you here, actually with me and in my bed and helping me with Seth than holding the fucking thing.”

It’s Dean’s turn to be surprised, he guesses, because Roman’s voice breaks on the last word, cracking dangerously, and it’s all Dean can do not to run to the other bed and climb into Roman’s arms. He looks down at the emptiness of the bed he’s in.

“Fuck it,” he says, and does just that, crawling into Roman’s lap and feeling those strong arms around him, cradling him, clinging like Roman thinks that, were he to let go, Dean might run away and never come back. Leaning up to kiss his lover feels so good, like a bottle of water after a long match, or a hot bath on an aching back, and Dean had known he was missing this, but he didn’t know how much until he had it back.

It's quick and easy to undress them both, for Dean to swallow Roman’s cock down and feel the bigger man shudder, hear his breath hitch as fingers wind into Dean’s hair, tugging just the right amount, fingernails raking over his scalp. They might not be very good at talking to each other sometimes, but they know how to do this, know how to sit Dean in Roman’s lap, Dean knows how Roman likes to be ridden, just how much pressure his mouth can place on Roman’s skin before it leaves a mark, just how tight Roman can grip his hips before they bruise. They aren’t good at communicating, but this they can manage just fine, knowing where their bodies fit, how to make each other moan and cry out and spill over. They can ruin the sheets just as easily as they’ve been ruining their relationship.

Afterwards, Roman murmurs little words of praise against Dean’s skin, tells him how Seth’s worried that the two of them fighting over the title is going to split their tenuous freedom, how he thinks Dean’s still mad at him for running out on them after that disastrous attempt at kinky sex.

“Text him,” Roman says, tucking Dean’s head against his chest to listen to the soft thudding of his heart. “He’ll be glad to hear from you, I promise.”

Dean falls asleep to the slow, steady beat of Roman’s heart, calm and patient, just like his big lover is, and dreams of Seth lying between them, curled up close, making them whole again.

 

The night of Survivor Series, Dean messages Seth.

**Roman’s gonna win**

**What d’you think the new champ deserves?**

_Nah you’ll win_

_He’s too soft on you_

**Bullshit**

**C’mon, what can I do for him to really celebrate?**

_Prep yourself in the shower after_

_Get him back to the hotel and let him just push in_

_That’s what I’d do._

He knows it’s hard on Seth to deal with this, knows that he’s worried it’ll tear them apart, but also a little heartsick that the title he gave them up for is going to someone else.

**Sorry we’re stealing your belt man**

_At least you’re keeping it in the family_

_Fuck anyone else having it, that thing belongs to us now_

We fought and bled for it, Dean doesn’t say, we nearly lost everything for it. Seth knows, of course he does, and he doesn’t need the reminder.

_Still telling you you’re winning tonight_

_Give him the fight of his life_

**You’re still wrong**

**Not gonna let him win though**

**He’s gotta fight for it**

Roman beats Del Rio so easily it’s like he’s not even trying, and Dean cheers for his brother, his lover, backstage, watching the screens. His own match against Kevin Owens is hard, but in the end, he comes out on top, and it’s the two of them, like they’ve always known it would be. They’re the best of the best, and the only man who can beat either of them is at home, watching the show on his couch with his knee wrapped up. Probably with his tiny dog wearing a sweater, Dean thinks fondly.

The match with Roman is… it’s half fight, half performance, Dean thinks, because they’re joking the whole way through it, and as much as the blows are hitting hard, and neither of them is going easy on the other, there’s a camaraderie in their movements that Dean knows everyone will see. They move like they know each other better than anyone else, from nights of being wrapped together, from nights of fights just like these, and the crowd screams for both of them. When the bell rings, and it’s Dean on his back in the ring, he almost doesn’t mind, smiling as he cradles Roman’s head to his chest. There’s confetti everywhere, and the big man is almost crying, tears in the corners of his eyes as Dean kisses his hair and tells him that he loves him.

“I’ll see you in the showers,” he murmurs, careful not to let the cameras catch the movement of his mouth. “Gotta give the champ a present.” He leaves the ring, aching, sore, but grinning ear from ear despite his lost. Roman won, and he looks so damn happy, and later on, Dean’s going to have Roman’s dick in him, his mouth on him, going to have that champ spread out in his bed and that title belt sitting on the other bed. Maybe Roman will fuck him with the belt on for round two, Dean thinks, slipping beyond gorilla and into the maze of passages backstage. Maybe he’ll pin Dean down and fuck him hard and fast, or maybe he’ll want to take his time. Maybe they can facetime Seth and let him watch. Fuck, yeah, he likes that idea. Dean laughs to himself as he walks into their shared locker room and starts stripping off. Yeah. Nothing can ruin tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here, go directly to [(This Isn't Really) Surviving](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5269700) for the next part!


	16. amazed that you ever loved me

When Dean and Roman leave, Seth tries not to collapse into emptiness, tries not to feel all the emotion come flooding back as he settles back into an empty home, and lets his emotions come back. He’s always done this, locked his own feelings away when someone else needs him, and that’s part of why he left, part of why he ran to Hunter, because he was so tired of putting himself aside so Dean and Roman could stop fighting for the half an hour it took for them to fuck. In a way, that worked, because leaving them bound them closer together than they ever were before, his two boys so wrapped up in each other, but he isn’t ready to do it again. He’s not going to become an empty husk simply because Roman and Dean forget he has needs, or don’t remember to ask him how he’s feeling. He feels guilty for shutting Dean out for a little while, for leaning on Roman, but he needed so badly, and now he’s repaid the favour.

But now they’re back on the road again, easy camaraderie and casual jokes, and he has to watch them on screen, has to watch them be tiny and so far away, and it makes him want to scream and throw things at the TV. He doesn’t, because he’s an adult, and he pays his own bills now, and because he’s not being paid quite so well to be off injured as he would be were he holding the title. He has dreams about that, dreams where it’s back on his shoulder where it belongs, where he’s the most decorated wrestler in history, where everyone screams when he enters, and raises their voices to shout obscenities, both positive and negative. When he wakes up, he swipes angrily at the tears on his cheeks, and turns the pillow over, tucking Kevin a little tighter against his side, and tries to fall back into a sleep that doesn’t bring up memories so good that they hurt to even think about.

December is hard, both Dean and Roman heading back to Florida to spend the holidays with Roman’s huge family, all 200 cousins, like they’ve always done, and Seth’s own parents asking him why he’s alone for the holidays, and when he’s going to pick up a nice boy or girl to spend his life with. He throws himself into rehab training as much as he can, eating his meals like clockwork, calories adjusted for the extra lack of activity, and taking his pills. Before his boyfriends can head back to Florida, though, there’s TLC, and Seth’s glued to the TV watching, waiting for Roman to win back his title, fingers digging into the couch as he sits and curses at the screen for Roman to do it, for Roman to bring the title back to their little family – and when he fails, it’s like a blow to the gut. This time, he doesn’t call, he doesn’t expect Roman will want to hear from him, doesn’t think he has anything to say. He holds his dog, he eats his meal, he takes his pills, he goes to bed between cold, lonely sheets, and doesn’t ask if they want to head over to his before they go to Florida. It’s not like it’s on the way from Boston, as they fly down the east coast, after all.

Christmas Day. They don’t call. He doesn’t charge his phone. He eats dinner with his family, brings leftovers home that he has no intention of eating, thanks his stepdad for the lift back to his place, and pretends he isn’t falling apart. It’s easier than he thought, because it turns out, no one really cares about how he’s doing anyway.

 

* * *

 

Christmas at Roman’s house is like it always is, loud and obnoxious, overblown and ridiculous, and Dean’s just glad that they won’t be there for New Year, the schedule putting them back on the road for anything not a major holiday. He loves Ro, he really does, but the whole family is a bit much, an ocean of tanned bodies hugging and shouting, all of them trying to pull Dean in for a photo, or shove him towards some food, of which there is far too much. Dean reckons he must gain about ten pounds just doing two days with them all, half the time just filling his mouth so that he doesn’t have to talk. Most of Rome’s family don’t expect him to talk anyway, just want to tell him some story they probably told him last year, but Dean’s not really one for memory either. It’s chaotic and noisy, and Dean finds himself wishing that Roman could tell his parents that they’re dating, this year, so they had an excuse to be alone.

They both sleep in Roman’s childhood bedroom, Roman on the pull-out bed, Dean in Roman’s narrow single, and Roman won’t let Dean push the beds closer so it’s like they’re sharing the same one, won’t hold hands across the gap, and won’t join him in the shower late at night or early in the morning when they’re least likely to get caught by family. He doesn’t even sit next to Dean at dinner, and frankly, by the time they’re meant to be on the road again, Dean’s sore, over-fed, and angry. Their flight’s delayed by three hours, which doesn’t help matters, and it’s only when he’s walking past a display of stuffed animals, and spots a tiny version of Kevin, that he remembers he never called Seth on Christmas. Fuck. He knows what family means on Christmas, what it is to wait for a call that never comes, and he just hopes beyond hope that Seth went to see his parents and brother and didn’t sit alone in his house, with his stupid, tiny dog, waiting for them to call.

He thinks about reminding Roman, about the two of them calling Seth together, the way things might go down, the fact that they could maybe stop by and see him again, support him as he’s getting more movement in his leg, but at the same point, he doesn’t want to admit that he’d forgotten about their third, and Roman’s so fucked up after the family bullshit that he’s barely touching Dean at all. He doesn’t want to call Seth and have them be divided, sit next to Roman awkwardly as he says – what? That he loves Seth, and misses him, and wishes the three of them were on the road together again? As if nothing has changed in the intervening years, as if they can just wipe the slate clean and take them back to three guys sharing a hotel room with one bed to save money, as if they can make all this fame, the titles, the roar of the crowd vanish, until they’re just three men, not three stars? Dean doesn’t pretend that it’s possible for them to go back to what they were, not until Seth turns on Triple H, not until he shows his true colours to the world.

When he lies back in the bed with Roman carefully leaving space between them, Dean wonders if Seth’s ever going to really come back to them, and whether he can really mend what seems to be breaking between Dean and Roman ever since Ro lost the title. Dean does what he can, but when Roman pulls away, when Roman’s not even calling Seth like he was before, he wonders if anything he can do will ever be enough.

 

* * *

 

Roman spends the whole of Christmas utterly miserable, Dean sat at the other end of the table from him, surrounded by relatives who don’t question that he brings his best friend home with him, but would question a boyfriend, who wouldn’t understand if he wanted to bring Seth as well, next year, or skip out on family time to be with any partner, especially not two men. He’d had a big talk from his father early on in his career about how you could have overwhelming emotions when you wrestled with someone, or even against them, how the bond you shared in the ring could feel like too much and not enough at the same time. He knew what it really was, the talk against taking a lover from your tag partners, or your opponents, against taking a man instead of a woman, of believing that just because you knew each other better than siblings, you were soul mates. It was a warning not to step outside of what was acceptable.

And Roman had gone out there with a plan to do just that, to stay straight and narrow and not look twice at the men surrounding him, but in FCW, Seth had burned like he was trying to set the world on fire, and Dean had been the wild stab in the dark that always got results, and he’d needed them so desperately that he hadn’t thought of his father’s words when he’d walked into the locker room and seen Dean with Seth pressed back against the wall, one hand in his pants and the other on his hair, Seth whimpering for more even as he opened his eyes and caught Roman’s stare. He’d frozen for a second, like he was going to push Dean away, but a bite to this throat drew another groan out of him, and when his eyes fluttered closed, Roman had walked away. He never knew if Seth had told Dean he’d been there, or if Dean had already known, he just knew that they were all he could think about, and if he couldn’t have them as his lovers – and he had no reason to suspect he could – then he would have them as close as they could be.

He wonders, now, if he’s forgetting all of the things that made them important to him, because Seth feels so far away at home, but Dean almost feels like he’s spiralling miles apart, even though he’s only at the other end of the table. Roman can feel them slipping away, slipping through his fingers just like the fucking title, and he knows he’s not supposed to be angry about that, that seeing Seth was supposed to make him feel better – and it did, for a little while. It takes him until nearly new year to realise he hasn’t called Seth, hasn’t checked up on him, hasn’t looked at his twitter to see if he’s said anything, hasn’t bothered to see how his lover is… but Dean hasn’t said anything either, and Seth hasn’t tried to call them. Maybe he was right, and they’re realising they could do better, maybe they want time to themselves, maybe it was a mistake to think that he could ever get between them, or that they might love him when he can’t even get a title match. Still. January. Royal Rumble. He can focus for that long. Maybe they’ll stay with him for that long.

 

* * *

 

Watching the Royal Rumble at home is a sting to Seth’s pride and his heart, and he wants to be there, wants to be in the ring, wants to tease a triple powerbomb and hear the whole crowd roar. He misses work so much, misses feeling appreciated like that. More than this, he misses having Roman and Dean so close that he’s allowed to touch them, even if he’s supposed to be on the other side still. It all comes down to the match, the title on the line, and Roman is as the first man, there to fight his way through everyone who comes after, including his own lover in Dean. When Seth sees them, they don’t trade eye contact for long, there’s something shifty in the way they look at each other, and Seth can see the failing team up, can see how this won’t end with either of his boys with his belt – it’s still his, it will always be his, he never lost it.

When Triple H comes out, Seth feels it like a blow to the gut, because no one told him, no one bothered to let him know, he didn’t get a goddamn courtesy message telling him that Hunter would be bringing the title back to the fold, or would be trying to. He wonders if Hunter will hold it until Seth comes back to claim it, but the thought is fleeting. Once, he was worth a great deal to Hunter, a way to take down all three of his enemies in one fell swoop and gain an ally, but Hunter’s a businessman, and he’s not going to stick around for an asset that proved to be a bad investment. Seth knows this, but when Hunter holds the title aloft, he can’t help but think, maybe. Just maybe.

When he calls Hunter afterwards, his calls go straight to voicemail, and he can feel that tight feeling in his throat, the one just before a bit spot or just after a near-fall, the tension and stress stirring in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant. He’s a schemer, that’s what he does best, and he can do this, he can come back as something not theirs, and not what he was, he can do this, if he has to. He thinks of Dean, the last man left in that ring with a monster, and wonders whether he would have helped him, or if he would have betrayed him all over again for that shiny toy he misses so much it’s like a physical ache where it doesn’t lie over his shoulder. Seth can admit to himself, at least, that he doesn’t want to know the answer to that.

 

* * *

 

After the shitshow of a Rumble, Dean’s furious, stalking the backstage areas looking for a fight, looking for an excuse to take Hunter and knock his smug teeth down his throat, and Roman can barely keep him held back, not that he tries too hard, as Dean crashes his hands into the wall over and over, until he’ll be lucky not to have broken anything. Roman stands behind him, shifting his weight like he wants to say something, but in the end, all Dean gets is a big hand on his shoulder, a firm squeeze, and Roman is gone, heading for the showers like it doesn’t matter, like Dean didn’t just get the chance to get back Seth’s title, Roman’s title, the one they could share between the three of them like kings of wrestling if they could just stop having curveballs thrown at them for one fucking second. He can feel his empty hands, and the way they bleed, and it isn’t enough, for once, just wrestling isn’t enough. He needs Roman, needs Seth, needs both of them wrapped around him like they’ll break if they can’t be together – and maybe this is the brokenness that they couldn’t stop.

He doesn’t speak to Roman for weeks, the two of them moving silently side by side, still in sync and still together, smiling for cameras and crowds, but underneath it all, something has snapped, something that Dean doesn’t know how to put back together. When Roman runs his hand over Dean’s hair in the night, he doesn’t push him away, but they don’t kiss each other goodnight anymore, for all that they still share one bed. They haven’t spoken to Seth, or at least, Dean doesn’t think Roman has spoken to Seth, but he hasn’t, can’t take this uncomfortable silence and put it in Seth’s lap, ask him to deal with this. This is something he and Roman need to fix, and right now, with both of them title-eyed and not looking at each other, he doesn’t think they’ll be fixing anything anytime soon.

The run up to Fastlane feels like walking into a wall over and over, feels like a million sharp tacks in his back, and he wants to grab Roman’s arm and ask if he’s drowning, too – but something stops him. In this, they’re competitors, maybe Seth will only love whoever brings back his title, maybe the crowd only loves whoever holds the gold. He can’t be Roman’s lover, not right now, and maybe that makes him weak and pathetic, or a bad partner, but he knows what he needs to do, what he wants out of this. Waiting for Roman to bring the title back to the three of them has ended in failure, so far, and in his less charitable moments, late at night, Dean can’t help but think that it’s because Roman’s setting himself up for it, and that he’d make a better champion than his lover. In the morning’s light, he shuts those thoughts away, and refuses to think about them – but he knows they’re still there.

 

* * *

 

The Royal Rumble drowns Dean like the noise of a crowd can drown out the three count, and Roman can see him, barely moving forwards, but there’s a wall there now, a wall he can’t get past and can’t get through. He’s not sure Dean would even want him to, if he could, thinks that maybe Dean wants rid of him just like the crowd wants rid of him, just like Seth probably does as well. Being apart taxes their communication, and Roman should call, should ask how he is, but he doesn’t want to hear it, if he’s honest. He’s sick of feeling guilty about Seth – guilty that he slept with Dean while they were apart, guilty that they fucked Seth up just before he hurt his knee, guilty that he needed to visit to feel okay about losing the title to Sheamus, guilty that he couldn’t hold onto it…. It never ends, and Roman’s tired of that, when Seth’s the one who ruined what they had, the perfect stable that could have had the strength to keep going forever. If anyone should feel guilty, it’s Seth, but he seems to lack the capacity, but expect Roman to carry the burden endlessly.

That’s all he feels like he’s good for, at the moment, carrying heavy loads and not complaining, the ideal workhorse for every little thing people want doing, and when it comes down to Fastlane, he’s almost glad to be facing Lesnar along with Dean. He could argue that it’s not a good idea to face his best friend, that it’s not something he should want to do again, but more than that, he knows he’s got someone who can take a beating. Two people, actually, who he doesn’t have to worry about, who he doesn’t have to pull punches with, because Dean doesn’t stop unless there’s too much blood in his eyes to see, and Lesnar doesn’t even stop then. It’s not going to be easy, but that number one contender’s place is his by rights, and he won’t give it up, not even for someone he loves with such strength that it often feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.

When he wins, he’s breathless backstage, grabbing his phone and calling Seth.

“Did you see?”

“I saw,” Seth says, voice quiet. “Well done, you’ll get the belt off him soon.”

“Yeah,” Roman replies, and then there’s an awkward silence where he doesn’t know what to say, which is ridiculous. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

There’s the guilt, sinking back in like it’s supposed to be there, and he can’t chase it away this time, when he hears the rustle of Seth moving the phone.

“Well,” Seth says, eventually, “I’ll let you get back to Dean, okay? Well done.”

He hangs up, like it’s nothing, like they’re not lovers, like… like Roman hasn’t called him for almost three months, after turning up in his house and demanding to be coddled. He’s been a shitty boyfriend, he knows that, but with the title so close… and it’s not as if Seth behaved any better when he knew the title was within reach. Roman shakes his head, throwing his phone back into his bag, and nodding at Dean as he passes, not speaking. Roman wonders when his life became so silent, without them, when he stopped knowing what to say, and when they stopped making the effort to reach out. But he’s too close, now, too close to the title that broke them apart, to stop now – even if it’s pulling them all apart for a second time.


End file.
